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IN  MEMORY  OF 


Henry  Gutterson  1884-1954 


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COLLECTED    VERSE    OF 
RUDYARD    KIPLING 


Other  Books  by  Rudyard  Kipling 

They 

Departmental  Ditties  and  Ballads  and 

Trafl&cs  and  Discoveries 

Barrack-Room  Ballads 

The  Five  Nations 

Plain  Tales  from  the  Hills 

The  Just  So  Song  Book 

The  Light  That  Failed 

Kim 

Life's  Handicap  :  Being  Stories  of  Mine 

Stalky  &  Co. 

Own  People 

The  Day's  Work 

Under  the  Deodars,  the  Phantom  'Rick- 

The Brushwood  Boy 

shaw,  and  Wee  Willie  Winkie 

From  Sea  to  Sea 

Soldiers  Three,  The  Story  of  the  Gads- 

Many  Inventions 

bys,  and  in  Black  and  White 

The  Jungle  Book 

Soldier  Stories 

Second  Jungle  Book 

The  Kipling  Birthday  Book 

Puck  of  Pook's  Hill 

(With  Wolcott  Balestier)  The  Naulahka 

Captains  Courageous 

The  Seven  Seas 

Collected  Verse 

Of 

Rudyard  Kipling 


New  York 

Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 

1907 


BALLADS  AND  BARRACK-ROOM  BALLADS 

Copyright,  1892 

By  Macmillan  <fc  Company 

New  Edition  with  Additional  Poems 

Copyright,  1893 
By  Macmillan  &  Company 

Copyright,  1899 
By  Rudyard  Kipling 


DEPARTMENTAL  DITTIES  AND  OTHER  VERSE 

Revised  ApHl,  1899 

Copyright,  1899 
By  Rudyard  Kipling 


THE  SEVEN  SEAS 

Copyright,  1896 
By  Rudyard  Kipling 

Illustrated  Edition 

Copyright,  1905 

By  D.  Appleton  &  Company 


THE  FIVE  NATIONS 

Copyright,  1903 
By  Rudyard  Kipling 


COLLECTED  VERSE 

Copyright,  1907 
By  Rudyard  Kipling 
Published  October,  1907 

All  rights  reserved, 

inclttding  that  of  translation  into  foreign  languages^ 

including  the  Scandinavian 


THE    UNIVERSITY    PRESS,    CAMBRIDGE,    U.S.A. 


Add«l 


/^^irrr 


Ifoj 

(!  oh.Z 


CONTENTS 


The  Fires      xi 

Dedication  from  "  Barrack  Room  Ballads  " 1 

To  the  True  Romance 3 

Sestina  of  the  Tramp-Royal 6 

The  Miracles 7 

Song  of  the  Wise  Children 8 

Buddha  at  Kamakura 10 

The  Sea-Wife 11 

The  Broken  Men 13 

The  Song  of  the  Banjo 15 

The  Explorer 19 

The  Sea  and  the  Hills 23 

Anchor  Song      24 

Rhyme  of  the  Three  Sealers 26 

M'Andrew's  Hymn 34 

MulhoUand's  Contract 42 

The  "Mary  Gloster" 45 

The  Ballad  of  "The  Bolivar"  . 53 

The  Ballad  of  the  "Clampherdown" 55 

Cruisers 58 

The  Destroyers 60 

White  Horses 62 

The  Derelict      ^b 

The  Merchantmen 67 

The  Song  of  Diego  Valdez 70 

The  Second  Voyage 73 

The  Liner  she  's  a  Lady 75 


035 


vi  CONTENTS 

The  First  Chantey 76 

The  Last  Chantey 78 

The  Long  Trail 80 

A  Song  of  the  English 84 

The  Coastwise  Lights      85 

The  Song  of  the  Dead 86 

The  Deep-Sea  Cables 89 

The  Song  of  the  Sons      89 

The  Song  of  the  Cities 90 

England's  Answer 93 

To  the  City  of  Bombay 94 

Our  Lady  of  the  Snows 96 

An  American 97 

The  Young  Queen 100 

The  Flowers 102 

The  Native-Born 105 

The  Lost  Legion 108 

Pharaoh  and  the  Sergeant 110 

Kitchener's  School 113 

Bridge-Guard  in  the  Karroo 115 

South  Africa 118 

The  Burial 120 

The  Settler 121 

Sussex 123 

Dirge  of  Dead  Sisters 126 

The  English  Flag 128 

When  Earth's  Last  Picture  is  Painted 131 

"Cleared" 132 

The  Ballad  of  East  and  West 136 

The  Last  Suttee 141 

General  Joubert 145 

The  Ballad  of  the  King's  Mercy 146 

The  Ballad  of  the  King's  Jest 149 

With  Scindia  to  Delhi      153 


CONTENTS  vii 

The  Dove  of  Dacca 157 

The  Ballad  of  Boh  Da  Thone 159 

The  Sacrifice  of  Er-Heb      168 

The  Lament  of  the  Border  Cattle  Thief      174 

The  Feet  of  the  Young  Men      176 

The  Truce  of  the  Bear 179 

The  Peace  of  Dives 182 

An  Imperial  Rescript 186 

Et  Dona  Ferentes 188 


Service  Songs  —  South  x\frican  War 

Before  a  Midnight  Breaks  in  Storm     193 

The  BeU  Buoy 194 

The  Old  Issue 197 

The  Lesson 200 

The  Islanders 202 

The  Dykes 206 

The  Wage-Slaves      208 

Rimmon 210 

The  Reformers      212 

The  Old  Men 214 

The  ^^^lite  Man's  Burden 215 

H}-mn  Before  Action 217 

Recessional 219 

The  Three-Decker 220 

The  Rh}Tne  of  the  Three  Captains 222 

The  Conundrum  of  the  W^orkshops 227 

Evarra  and  his  Gods 229 

In  the  Neolithic  Age 231 

The  Story  of  Ung 233 

The  Files 236 

The  Legends  of  Evil 238 

Tomlinson      241 


viii  CONTENTS 

The  Explanation 246 

The  Answer 247 

The  Gift  of  the  Sea 248 

The  King 250 

The  Last  Rhyme  of  True  Thomas 252 

The  Palace 257 

Barrack  Room  Ballads.     I  —  Indlaj^  Service 

To  Thomas  Atkins 261 

Danny  Deever 261 

Tommy 263 

"Fuzzy- Wuzzy" 265 

Soldier,  Soldier 267 

Screw-Guns 268 

Cells 270 

Gunga  Din 271 

Oonts      274 

Loot 276 

"Snarleyow" 278 

The  Widow  at  Windsor 280 

Belts 281 

The  Young  British  Soldier 283 

Mandalay 285 

Troopin' 288 

The  Widow's  Party      289 

Ford  o'  Kabul  River 291 

Gentlemen- Rankers      292 

Route  Marchin' 294 

Shillin'  a  Day        296 

Barrack  Room  Ballads.    II  —  General 

"Back  to  the  Army  Again" 301 

"Birds  of  Prey"  March      303 


CONTENTS  ix 

*•  Soldier  an' Sailor  too"      305 

Sappers 307 

That  Day 310 

*' The  Men  that  Fought  at  Minden" 311 

Cholera  Camp 313 

The  Ladies 315 

Bill  'Awkins 317 

The  Mother-Lodge 318 

"Follow  me 'Ome"      320 

The  Sergeant's  Weddin'      322 

The  Jacket 324 

The  'Eathen      326 

The  Shut-Eye  Sentry 329 

** Mary,  Pity  Women!" 331 

*'For  to  Admire" 333 

Service  Songs  —  South  African  War 

Chant-Pagan 339 

M.  1 341 

Columns 345 

The  Parting  of  the  Columns 347 

Two  Kopjes 349 

The  Instructor 351 

Boots 352 

The  Married  Man 354 

Lichtenberg 356 

Stellenbosh 357 

Half-BaUad  of  Waterval      359 

Piet 360 

"Wilful-Missmg" 362 

Ubique 364 

The  Return 365 


THE   FIRES 

Men  make  them  fires  on  the  hearth 

Each  wider  his  roof-tree^ 
And  the  Four  Winds  that  rule  the  earth 

They  blow  the  smokes  to  me. 

Across  the  high  hills  and  the  sea 
And  all  the  changeful  skies, 

The  Four  Winds  blow  the  smoke  to  me 
Till  the  tears  are  in  my  eyes. 

Until  the  tears  are  in  my  eyes 
And  my  heart  is  wellnigh  broke; 

For  thinking  on  old  memories 
That  gather  in  the  smoke. 

With  every  shift  of  every  wind 
The  homesick  memories  come, 

From  every  quarter  of  mankind 
Where  I  have  made  me  a  home. 

Four  times  afire  against  the  cold 
And  a  roof  against  the  rain — 

Sorrow  fourfold  and  joy  fourfold 
The  Four  Winds  bring  again! 

How  can  I  answer  which  is  best 

Of  all  thefij-es  that  burn? 
I  have  been  too  often  host  or  gu£st 

At  every  fire  in  turn. 


xii  THE    FIRES 

How  can  I  turn  from  anyjire, 
On  any  marts  hearthstone? 

I  know  the  wonder  and  desire 
That  went  to  build  my  own! 

How  can  I  doubt  man's  joy  or  woe 
Where"* er  his  hou^e-jires  shine. 

Since  all  that  man  must  undergo 
Will  visit  me  at  mine? 

Oh,  you  Four  Winds  that  blow  so  strong 
And  know  that  this  is  true, 

Stoop  for  a  little  and  carry  my  song 
To  all  the  men  I  knew! 

Where  there  are  f  res  against  the  cold. 
Or  roofs  against  the  rain — 

With  love  fourfold  and  joy  fourfold. 
Take  them  my  songs  again. 


COLLECTED   VERSE   OF  KIPLING 


DEDICATION  FROM  "BARRACK  ROOM 

BALLADS " 


JDEYOND  the  path  of  the  outmost  sun  through  utter  dark- 
ness hurled  — 
Further  than  ever  comet  flared  or  vagrant  star-dust  swirled — 
Live  such  as  fought  and  sailed  and  ruled  and  loved  and  made 
our  world. 

They  are  purged  of  pride  because  they  died,  they  know  the 

worth  of  their  bays; 
They  sit  at  wine  with  the  Maidens  Nine  and  the  Gods  of  the 

Elder  Days  — 
It  is  their  will  to  serve  or  be  still  as  fitteth  Our  Father^s  praise. 

'T  is  theirs  to  sweep  through  the  ringing  deep  where  AzraeVs 

outposts  are. 
Or  buffet  a  path  through  the  Pit's  red  wrath  when  God  goes 

out  to  war. 
Or  hang  with  the  reckless  Seraphim  on  the  rein  of  a  red- 

maned  star. 

They  take  their  mirth  in  the  joy  of  the  Earth  —  they  dare 

not  grieve  for  her  pain  — 
They  know  of  toil  and  the  end  of  toil,  they  know  God's  Law 

is  plain. 
So  they  whistle  the  Devil  to  make  them  sport  who  know  that 

Sin  is  vain. 


£  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

And  ofttimes  cometh  our  wise  Lord  God,  master  of  every 

trade. 
And  tells  them  tales  of  His  daily  toil,  of  Edens  newly  made; 
And  they  rise  to  their  feet  as  He  passes  by,  gentlemen  mn- 

afraid. 

To  these  who  are  cleansed  of  base  Desire,  Sorrow  and  Lust 

and  Shame  — 
Gods  for  they  knew  the  hearts  of  men,  men  for  they  stooped 

to  Fame  — 
Borne  on  the  breath  that  men  call  Death,  my  brother's  spirit 

came. 

He  scarce  had  need  to  doff  his  pride  or  slough  the  dross  of 

Earth  — 
E'en  as  he  trod  that  day  to  God  so  walked  he  from  his  birth. 
In  simpleness  and  gentleness  and  honour  and  clean  mirth. 

So  cup  to  lip  in  fellowship  they  gave  hvm  welcome  high 
And  made  him  place  at  the  banquet  board  —  the  Strong  Men 

ranged  thereby. 
Who  had  done  his  work  and  held  his  peace  and  had  no  fear 

to  die. 

Beyond  the  loom  of  the  last  lone  star,  through  open  darkness 

hurled. 
Further  than  rebel  comet  dared  or  hiving  star-swarm  swirled. 
Sits  he  with  those  that  praise  our  God  for  that  they  served  His 

world. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  3 

TO   THE  TRUE   ROMANCE 

1893 

A   HY  face  is  far  from  this  our  •war,  i 

Our  call  and  counter-cry,  ^^    (>\>\-s^i><. 

/  shall  not  find  Thee  quick  and  kind. 
Nor  know  Thee  till  I  die. 

Enough  for  me  in  dreams  to  see 
And  touch  Thy  garments^  hem: 

Thy  feet  have  trod  so  near  to  God 
I  may  not  follow  them! 

Through  wantonness  if  men  profess 
They  weary  of  Thy  parts, 

E'en  let  them  die  at  blasphemy 
And  perish  with  their  arts ; 

But  we  that  love,  but  we  that  prove 
Thine  excellence  august. 

While  we  adore,  discover  more  — 
Thee  perfect,  wise,  and  just. 

Since  spoken  word  Man's  Spirit  stirred 
Beyond  his  belly-need, 

What  is  is  Thine  of  fair  design 
In  Thought  and  Craft  and  Deed; 

Each  stroke  aright  of  toil  and  fight, 
That  was  and  that  shall  be. 

And  hope  too  high  wherefore  we  die, 
Has  birth  and  worth  in  Thee. 

Who  holds  by  Thee  hath  Heaven  in  fee 
To  gild  his  dross  thereby, 

And  knowledge  sure  that  he  endure 
A  child  until  he  die  — 


COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

For  to  make  plain  that  man's  disdain 
Is  but  new  Beauty's  birth  — 

For  to  possess  in  merriness 
The  joy  of  all  the  earth. 

As  Thou  didst  teach  all  lovers  speech 
And  Life  all  mystery, 

So  shalt  Thou  rule  by  every  school 
Till  life  and  longing  die, 

Who  wast  or  yet  the  Lights  were  set, 
A  whisper  in  the  Void, 

Who  shalt  be  sung  through  planets  young 
When  this  is  clean  destroyed. 

Beyond  the  bounds  our  staring  rounds, 
Across  the  pressing  dark. 

The  children  wise  of  outer  skies 
Look  hitherward  and  mark 

A  hght  that  shifts,  a  glare  that  drifts, 
Rekindling  thus  and  thus. 

Not  all  forlorn,  for  Thou  hast  borne 
Strange  tales  to  them  of  us. 

Time  hath  no  tide  but  must  abide 
The  servant  of  Thy  will ; 

Tide  hath  no  time,  for  to  Thy  rhyme 
The  ranging  stars  stand  still  — 

Regent  of  spheres  that  lock  our  fears 
Our  hopes  invisible. 

Oh  'twas  certes  at  Thy  decrees 
We  fashioned  Heaven  and  Hell! 

Pure  Wisdom  hath  no  certain  path 
That  lacks  thy  morning-eyne, 

And  captains  bold  by  Thee  controlled 
Most  like  to  Gods  design. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING 

Thou  art  the  Voice  to  kingly  boys 
To  lift  them  through  the  fight, 

And  Comfortress  of  Unsuccess, 
To  give  the  Dead  good-night. 

A  veil  to  draw  'twixt  God  His  Law 
And  Man's  infirmity, 

A  shadow  kind  to  dumb  and  blind 
The  shambles  where  we  die ; 

A  rule  to  trick  th'  arithmetic. 
Too  base,  of  leaguing  odds  — 

The  spur  of  trust,  the  curb  of  lust, 
Thou  handmaid  of  the  Gods ! 

O  Charity,  all  patiently 
Abiding  wrack  and  scaith ! 

0  Faith,  that  meets  ten  thousand  cheats 
Yet  drops  no  jot  of  faith! 

Devil  and  brute  Thou  dost  transmute 
To  higher,  lordlier  show. 

Who  art  in  sooth  that  lovely  Truth 
The  careless  angels  know! 

Thy  face  is  far  from  this  our  war. 
Our  call  and  counter-cry, 

1  may  not  find  Thee  quick  and  kind, 
Nor  know  Thee  till  I  die. 

Yet  may  I  look  with  heart  unshook 
On  blow  brought  home  or  missed  — 

Yet  may  I  hear  with  equal  ear 
The  clarions  down  the  List; 

Yet  set  my  lance  above  mischance 
And  ride  the  barriere  — 

Oh,  hit  or  miss,  how  little  't  is. 
My  Lady  is  not  there! 


COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

SESTINA  OF  THE  TRAMP-ROYAL 

189G 

^PEAKIN'  in  general,  I  'ave  tried  'em  all  — 
The  'appy  roads  that  take  you  o'er  the  world. 
Speakin'  in  general,  I  'ave  found  them  good 
For  such  as  cannot  use  one  bed  too  long, 
But  must  get  'ence,  the  same  as  I  'ave  done, 
An'  go  observin'  matters  till  they  die. 

What  do  it  matter  where  or  'ow  we  die, 

So  long  as  we  've  our  'ealth  to  watch  it  all  — 

The  different  ways  that  different  things  are  done, 

An'  men  an'  women  lovin'  in  this  world; 

Takin'  our  chances  as  they  come  along, 

An'  when  they  ain't,  pretendin'  they  are  good? 

In  cash  or  credit  —  no,  it  are  n't  no  good ; 
You  'ave  to  'ave  the  'abit  or  you  'd  die. 
Unless  you  lived  your  life  but  one  day  long, 
Nor  did  n't  prophesy  nor  fret  at  all. 
But  drew  your  tucker  some'ow  from  the  world. 
An'  never  bothered  what  you  might  ha'  done. 

But,  Gawd,  what  things  are  they  I  'ave  n't  done ! 
I  've  turned  my  'and  to  most,  an'  turned  it  good. 
In  various  situations  round  the  world  — 
For  'im  that  doth  not  work  must  surely  die ; 
But  that 's  no  reason  man  should  labour  all 
'Is  hfe  on  one  same  shift;   life  's  none  so  lonor. 


'&" 


Therefore,  from  job  to  job  I  've  moved  along. 

Pay  could  n't  'old  me  when  my  time  was  done. 

For  something  in  my  'cad  upset  me  all. 

Till  I  'ad  dropped  whatever  't  was  for  good, 

An',  out  at  sea,  be'eld  the  dock-lights  die. 

An'  met  my  mate  —  the  wind  that  tramps  the  world ! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING 

It 's  like  a  book,  I  think,  this  bloomin'  world, 
Which  you  can  read  and  care  for  just  so  long, 
But  presently  you  feel  that  you  will  die 
Unless  you  get  the  page  you  're  readin'  done, 
An'  turn  another  —  likely  not  so  good ; 
But  what  you  're  after  is  to  turn  'em  all. 

Gawd  bless  this  world !    Whatever  she  'ath  done  — 
Excep'  when  awful  long  —  I  've  found  it  good. 
So  write,  before  I  die,  "  'E  liked  it  all !  " 


THE  MIRACLES 

1894 


I 


SENT  a  message  to  my  dear  — 
A  thousand  leagues  and  more  to  Her 
The  dumb  sea-levels  thrilled  to  hear. 
And  Lost  Atlantis  bore  to  Her ! 

Behind  my  message  hard  I  came, 

And  nigh  had  found  a  grave  for  me; 

But  that  I  launched  of  steel  and  flame 
Did  war  against  the  wave  for  me. 

Uprose  the  deep,  in  gale  on  gale. 

To  bid  me  change  my  mind  again  — 

He  broke  his  teeth  along  my  rail, 
And,  roaring,  swung  behind  again. 

I  stayed  the  sun  at  noon  to  tell 
My  way  across  the  waste  of  it; 

I  read  the  storm  before  it  fell 
And  made  the  better  haste  of  it. 


8  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Afar,  I  hailed  the  land  at  night  — 

The  towers  I  built  had  heard  of  me  — 

And,  ere  my  rocket  reached  its  height. 
Had  flashed  my  Love  the  word  of  me. 

Earth  sold  her  chosen  men  of  strength 
(They  Hved  and  strove  and  died  for  me) 

To  drive  my  road  a  nation's  length, 
And  toss  the  miles  aside  for  me. 

I  snatched  their  toil  to  serve  my  needs  — 
Too  slow  their  fleetest  flew  for  me. 

I  tired  twenty  smoking  steeds, 

And  bade  them  bait  a  new  for  me. 

I  sent  the  Lightnings  forth  to  see 
Where  hour  by  hour  She  waited  me. 

Among  ten  million  one  was  She, 
And  surely  all  men  hated  me! 

Dawn  ran  to  meet  me  at  my  goal  — 

Ah,  day  no  tongue  shall  tell  again !  .  .  . 

And  little  folk  of  little  soul 

Rose  up  to  buy  and  sell  again ! 


SONG  OF  THE   WISE   CHILDREN 

1902 

W  HEN  the  darkened  Fifties  dip  to  the  North, 
And  frost  and  the  fog  divide  the  air, 

And  the  day  is  dead  at  his  brcaking-forth. 
Sirs,  it  is  bitter  beneath  the  Bear ! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  9 

Far  to  Southward  they  wheel  and  glance, 

The  million  molten  spears  of  morn  — 
The  spears  of  our  deliverance 

That  shine  on  the  house  where  we  were  born. 

Flying-fish  about  our  bows, 

Flying  sea-fires  in  our  wake: 
This  is  the  road  to  our  Father's  House, 

Whither  we  go  for  our  souls'  sake! 

We  have  forfeited  our  birthright, 

We  have  forsaken  all  things  meet ; 
We  have  forgotten  the  look  of  light, 

We  have  forgotten  the  scent  of  heat. 

They  that  walk  with  shaded  brows, 

Year  by  year  in  a  shining  land. 
They  be  men  of  our  Father's  House, 

They  shall  receive  us  and  understand. 

We  shall  go  back  by  boltless  doors. 

To  the  hfe  unaltered  our  childhood  knew  — 

To  the  naked  feet  on  the  cool,  dark  floors. 

And  the  high-ceiled  rooms  that  the  Trade  blows 

through : 

To  the  trumpet-flowers  and  the  moon  beyond, 
And  the  tree-toad's  chorus  drowning  all  — 

And  the  lisp  of  the  spht  banana-frond 

That  talked  us  to  sleep  when  we  were  small. 

The  wayside  magic,  the  threshold  spells, 

Shall  soon  undo  what  the  North  has  done  — 

Because  of  the  sights  and  the  sounds  and  the  smells 
That  ran  with  our  youth  in  the  eye  of  the  sun. 

And  Earth  accepting  shall  ask  no  vows. 

Nor  the  Sea  our  love,  nor  our  lover  the  Sky. 

When  we  return  to  our  Father's  House 
Only  the  English  shall  wonder  why! 


10  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

BUDDHA    AT    KAMAKURA 

1892 

"  And  there  is  a  Japanese  idol  at  Kamahura  " 

vy  YE  who  tread  the  Narrow  Way 
By  Tophet-flare  to  Judgment  Day, 
Be  gentle  when  "  the  heathen  "  pray 
To  Buddha  at  Kamakura! 

To  him  the  Way,  the  Law,  apart. 
Whom  Maya  held  beneath  her  heart, 
Ananda's  Lord,  the  Bodhisat, 
The  Buddha  of  Kamakura. 

For  though  he  neither  burns  nor  sees, 
Nor  hears  ye  thank  your  Deities, 
Ye  have  not  sinned  with  such  as  these, 
His  children  at  Kamakura; 

Yet  spare  us  still  the  Western  joke 
When  joss-sticks  turn  to  scented  smoke 
The  httle  sins  of  Httle  folk 

That  worship  at  Kamakura  — 

The  grey-robed,  gay-sashed  butterflies 
That  flit  beneath  the  Master's  eyes. 
He  is  beyond  the  Mysteries 
But  loves  them  at  Kamakura. 

And  whoso  will,  from  Pride  released. 
Contemning  neither  creed  nor  priest. 
May  feel  the  Soul  of  all  the  East 
About  him  at  Kamakura. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  11 

Yea,  every  tale  Ananda  heard, 
Of  birth  as  fish  or  beast  or  bird, 
While  yet  in  lives  the  Master  stirred. 
The  warm  wind  brings  Kamakura. 

Till  drowsy  eyelids  seem  to  see 
A-flower  'neath  her  golden  litee 
The  Shwe-Dagon  flare  easterly 
From  Burmah  to  Kamakura ; 

And  down  the  loaded  air  there  comes 
The  thunder  of  Thibetan  drums. 
And  droned  —  "  Om  mane  padme  oms  "  — 
A  world's  width  from  Kamakura. 

Yet  Brahmans  rule  Benares  still, 

Buddh-Gaya's  ruins  pit  the  hill. 

And  beef-fed  zealots  threaten  ill 

To  Buddha  and  Kamakura. 

A  tourist-show,  a  legend  told, 
A  rusting  bulk  of  bronze  and  gold. 
So  much,  and  scarce  so  much,  ye  hold 
The  meaning  of  Kamakura.'^ 

But  when  the  morning  prayer  is  prayed, 
Think,  ere  ye  pass  to  strife  and  trade, 
Is  God  in  human  image  made 
No  nearer  than  Kamakura? 


THE    SEA-WIFE 

1893 

HERE  dwells  a  wife  by  the  Northern  Gate, 
And  a  wealthy  wife  is  she ; 
She  breeds  a  breed  o'  rovin'  men 
And  casts  them  over  sea. 


12  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

And  some  are  drowned  in  deep  water, 

And  some  in  sight  o'  shore, 
And  word  goes  back  to  the  weary  wife 

And  ever  she  sends  more. 

For  since  that  wife  had  gate  or  gear. 

Or  hearth  or  garth  or  field, 
She  willed  her  sons  to  the  white  harvest, 

And  that  is  a  bitter  yield. 

She  wills  her  sons  to  the  wet  ploughing, 

To  ride  the  horse  of  tree. 
And  syne  her  sons  come  back  again 

Far-spent  from  out  the  sea. 

The  good  wife's  sons  come  home  again 

With  little  into  their  hands, 
But  the  lore  of  men  that  ha'  dealt  with  men 

In  the  new  and  naked  lands ; 

But  the  faith  of  men  that  have  brothered  men 

By  more  than  easy  breath. 
And  the  eyes  o'  men  that  have  read  with  men 

In  the  open  books  of  Death. 

Rich  are  they,  rich  in  wonders  seen. 

But  poor  in  the  goods  o'  men ; 
So  what  they  ha'  got  by  the  skin  of  their  teeth 

They  sell  for  their  teeth  again. 

For  whether  they  lose  to  the  naked  life 

Or  win  to  their  hearts'  desire. 
They  tell  it  all  to  the  weary  wife 

That  nods  beside  the  fire. 

Her  hearth  is  wide  to  every  wind 

That  makes  the  white  ash  spin ; 
And  tide  and  tide  and  'tween  the  tides 

Her  sons  go  out  and  in; 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  13 

(Out  with  great  mirth  that  do  desire 

Hazard  of  trackless  ways, 
In  with  content  to  wait  their  watch 

And  warm  before  the  blaze)  ; 

And  some  return  by  failing  light, 

And  some  in  waking  dream, 
For  she  hears  the  heels  of  the  dripping  ghosts 

That  ride  the  rough  roof-beam. 

Home,  they  come  home  from  all  the  ports. 

The  living  and  the  dead ; 
The  good  wife's  sons  come  home  again 

For  her  blessing  on  their  head ! 


THE   BROKEN   MEN 

1902 

P  OR  things  we  never  mention, 

For  Art  misunderstood  — 
For  excellent  intention 

That  did  not  turn  to  good ; 
From  ancient  tales'  renewing, 

From  clouds  we  would  not  clear  - 
Beyond  the  Law's  pursuing 

We  fled,  and  settled  here. 

We  took  no  tearful  leaving, 

We  bade  no  long  good-byes ; 
Men  talked  of  crime  and  thieving, 

Men  TSTote  of  fraud  and  lies. 
To  save  our  injured  feelings 

'T  w^as  time  and  time  to  go  — 
Behind  w^as  dock  and  Dartmoor, 

Ahead  lay  Callao ! 


14  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

The  widow  and  the  orphan 

That  pray  for  ten  per  cent. 
They  clapped  their  trailers  on  us 

To  spy  the  road  we  went. 
They  watched  the  foreign  sailings 

(They  scan  the  shipping  still), 
And  that 's  your  Christian  people 

Returning  good  for  ill ! 

God  bless  the  thoughtful  islands 

Where  never  warrants  come ; 
God  bless  the  just  Republics 

That  give  a  man  a  home. 
That  ask  no  foolish  questions. 

But  set  him  on  his  feet ; 
And  save  his  wife  and  daughters 

From  the  workhouse  and  the  street ! 

On  church  and  square  and  market 

The  noonday  silence  falls ; 
You  '11  hear  the  drowsy  mutter 

Of  the  fountain  in  our  halls. 
Asleep  amid  the  yuccas 

The  city  takes  her  ease  — 
Till  twilight  brings  the  land-wind 

To  the  clicking  jalousies. 

Day  long  the  diamond  weather, 

The  high,  unaltered  blue  — 
The  smell  of  goats  and  incense 

And  the  mule-bells  tinkling  through. 
Day  long  the  warder  ocean 

That  keeps  us  from  our  kin. 
And  once  a  month  our  levee 

When  the  English  mail  comes  in. 

You  '11  find  us  up  and  waiting 
To  treat  you  at  the  bar ; 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  16 

You  '11  find  us  less  exclusive 

Than  the  average  English  are. 
We  '11  meet  you  with  a  carriage. 

Too  glad  to  show  you  round, 
But  —  we  do  not  lunch  on  steamers, 

For  they  are  English  ground. 

We  sail  o'  nights  to  England 

And  join  our  smiling  Boards ; 
Our  wives  go  in  with  Viscounts 

And  our  daughters  dance  with  Lords : 
But  behind  our  princely  doings, 

And  behind  each  coup  we  make. 
We  feel  there 's  Something  W^aiting, 

And  —  we  meet  It  when  we  wake. 

Ah  God  !  One  sniff  of  England  — 

To  greet  our  flesh  and  blood  — 
To  hear  the  hansoms  slurring 

Once  more  through  London  mud ! 
Our  towns  of  wasted  honour  — 

Our  streets  of  lost  delight ! 
How  stands  the  old  Lord  Warden  ? 

Are  Dover's  cliffs  still  white  ? 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  BANJO 

1894 

Y  OU  could  n't  pack  a  Broad  wood  half  a  mile  — 

You  must  n't  leave  a  fiddle  in  the  damp  — 
You  could  n't  raft  an  organ  up  the  Nile, 

And  play  it  in  an  Equatorial  swamp. 
I  travel  with  the  cooking-pots  and  pails  — 

I  'm  sandwiched  'tween  the  coffee  and  the  pork  — 
And  when  the  dusty  column  checks  and  tails, 

You  should  hear  me  spur  the  rearguard  to  a  walk ! 


16  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

With  my  "  Pilly-willy-winJcy-ivinky  popp!  " 
[  Oh,  it 's  any  tune  that  comes  into  my  head  !  ] 

So  I  keep  'em  moving  forward  till  they  drop ; 
So  I  play  'em  up  to  water  and  to  bed. 

In  the  silence  of  the  camp  before  the  fight, 

When  it 's  good  to  make  your  will  and  say  your  prayer, 
You  can  hear  my  strumpty-tumpty  overnight. 

Explaining  ten  to  one  was  always  fair. 
I  'm  the  Prophet  of  the  Utterly  Absurd, 

Of  the  Patently  Impossible  and  Vain  — 
And  when  the  Thing  that  Could  n't  has  occurred. 

Give  me  time  to  change  my  leg  and  go  again. 

With  my  "  Tumpa-tumpa-tumpa-tiim-pa  tump!  " 

In  the  desert  where  the  dung-fed  camp-smoke  curled. 

There  was  never  voice  before  us  till  I  led  our  lonely  chorus, 
I  —  the  war-drum  of  the  White  Man  round  the  world  ! 

By  the  bitter  road  the  Younger  Son  must  tread. 

Ere  he  win  to  hearth  and  saddle  of  his  own,  — 
'Mid  the  riot  of  the  shearers  at  the  shed. 

In  the  silence  of  the  herder's  hut  alone  — 
In  the  twilight,  on  a  bucket  upside  down. 

Hear  me  babble  what  the  weakest  won't  confess  — 
I  am  Memory  and  Torment  —  I  am  Town  ! 

I  am  all  that  ever  went  with  evening  dress  ! 


& 


With  my  "  Tunk-a  tunka'tunha-tunha-tunk! " 

[  So  the  lights  —  the  London    Lights  —  grow  near  and 
plain  !  ] 

So  I  rowel  'em  afresh  towards  the  Devil  and  the  Flesh, 
Till  I  bring  my  broken  rankers  home  again. 

In  desire  of  many  marvels  over  sea, 

Where  the  new-raised  tropic  city  sweats  and  roars, 
I  have  sailed  with  Young  Ulysses  from  the  quay 

Till  the  anchor  rumbled  down  on  stranger  sliores. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  17 

He  is  blooded  to  the  open  and  the  sky. 

He  is  taken  in  a  snare  that  shall  not  fail, 
He  shall  hear  me  singing  strongly,  till  he  die, 

Like  the  shouting  of  a  backstay  in  a  gale. 

With  my  "H2/a!   Heeya!   Heeya!   Hullah!   Haul!'' 
[Oh  the  green  that  thunders  aft  along  the  deck !] 
Are  you  sick  o'  towns  and  men?    You  must  sign  and  sail 
again, 
For  it 's  "  Johnny  Bowlegs,  pack  your  kit  and  trek!  " 

Through  the  gorge  that  gives  the  stars  at  noon-day  clear 

Up  the  pass  that  packs  the  scud  beneath  our  wheel  — 
Round  the  bluff  that  sinks  her  thousand  fathom  sheer  — 

Down  the  valley  with  our  guttering  brakes  asqueal: 
Where  the  trestle  groans  and  quivers  in  the  snow. 

Where  the  many-shedded  levels  loop  and  twine, 
Hear  me  lead  my  reckless  children  from  below 

Till  we  sing  the  Song  of  Roland  to  the  pine. 

With  my   "  Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink!  " 

[Oh   the   axe  has   cleared   the  mountain,   croup   and 
crest !] 

And  we  ride  the  iron  stallions  down  to  drink. 
Through  the  canons  to  the  waters  of  the  West ! 

And  the  tunes  that  means  so  much  to  you  alone  — 

Common  tunes  that  make  you  choke  and  blow  your  nose, 
Vulgar  tunes  that  bring  the  laugh  that  brings  the  groan  — 

I  can  rip  your  very  heartstrings  out  with  those ; 
With  the  feasting,  and  the  folly,  and  the  fun  — 

And  the  lying,  and  the  lusting,  and  the  drink. 
And  the  merry  play  that  drops  you,  when  you  're  done, 

To  the  thoughts  that  burn  like  irons  if  you  tliink. 

2 


18  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

With  my  "  Plunk a-lunJca-lunka-lunka-lunJc!  " 
Here  's  a  trifle  on  account  of  pleasure  past, 

Ere  the  wit  that  made  you  win  gives  you  eyes  to  see  your 
sin 
And  —  the  heavier  repentance  at  the  last ! 

Let  the  organ  moan  her  sorrow  to  the  roof  — 

I  have  told  the  naked  stars  the  Grief  of  Man ! 
Let  the  trumpets  snare  the  foeman  to  the  proof  — 

I  have  known  Defeat,  and  mocked  it  as  we  ran ! 
My  bray  ye  may  not  alter  nor  mistake 

When  I  stand  to  j  eer  the  fatted  Soul  of  Things, 
But  the  Song  of  Lost  Endeavour  that  I  make, 

Is  it  hidden  in  the  twanging  of  the  strings? 

With  my  "  Ta-ra-rara-rara-ra-ra-rrrp !  " 

[Is  it  naught  to  you  that  hear  and  pass  me  by?] 

But  the  word  —  the  word  is  mine,  when  the  order  moves 
the  hne 
And  the  lean,  locked  ranks  go  roaring  down  to  die! 

The  grandam  of  my  grandam  was  the  Lyre  — 

[O  the  blue  below  the  little  fisher-huts !] 
That  the  Stealer  stooping  beachward  filled  with  fire. 

Till  she  bore  my  iron  head  and  ringing  guts ! 
By  the  wisdom  of  the  centuries  I  speak  — 

To  the  tune  of  yestermorn  I  set  the  truth 

I,  the  joy  of  life  unquestioned  —  I,  the  Greek  — 

I,  the  everlasting  Wonder  Song  of  Youth ! 

With  my  "  Tmka-tinka-tmka-tinka-t'mk!  " 

[What  d'  ye  lack,   my   noble  masters  ?     What  d'  ye 
lack?] 

So  I  draw  the  world  together  link  by  link: 
Yea,  from  Dclos  up  to  Limerick  and  back ! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  19 

THE  EXPLORER 

1898 

1  HERE 'S   no  sense    in  going   further  —  it 's  the  edge  of 

cultivation," 
So  they  said,  and  I  beHeved  it  —  broke  my  land  and  sowed 
my  crop  — 
Built  my  barns  and  strung  my  fences  in  the  little  border  station 
Tucked  away  below  the  foothills  where  the  trails  run  out  and 
stop. 

Till  a  voice,  as  bad  as  Conscience,  rang  interminable  changes 
On  one  everlasting  Whisper  day  and  night  repeated  —  so : 
*'  Something  hidden.     Go  and  find  it.     Go  and  look  behind  the 
Ranges  — 
"Something  lost  behind  the  Ranges.     Lost  and  waiting  for 
you.     Go ! " 

So   I   went,   worn    out   of    patience;    never   told   my   nearest 
neighbours  — 
Stole  away  with  pack  and  ponies  —  left  'em  drinking  in  the 
tow  n ; 
And  the  faith  that  moveth  mountains  did  n't  seem  to  help  my 
labours 
As  I  faced  the  sheer  main-ranges,  whipping  up  and  leading 
down. 

March  by  march  I  puzzled  through  'em,  turning  flanks  and  dodg- 
ing shoulders. 
Hurried  on  in  hope  of  water,  headed  back  for  lack  of  grass  ; 
Till  I  camped  above  the  tree-line  —  drifted  snow  and  naked 
boulders  — 
Felt  free  air  astir  to  windward  —  knew  I  'd  stumbled  on  the 
Pass. 


20  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

'Thought  to  name  it  for  the  jfinder:   but  that  night  the  Norther 
found  me  — 
Froze  and  killed  the  plains-bred  ponies  ;  so  I  called  the  camp 
Despair 
(It's  the  Railway  Cap  to-day,  though).     Then  my  Whisper 
waked  to  hound  me :  — 
*' Something  lost  behind  the  Ranges.     Over  yonder  !     Go  you 
there!" 

Then  I  knew,  the  while  I  doubted  —  knew  His  Hand  was  certain 
o'er  me. 
Still  —  it  might  be  self-delusion  —  scores  of  better  men  had 
died  — 
I  could  reach  the  township  living,  but  .  .  .  He  knows  what 
terrors  tore  me  .  .  . 
But  I  did  n't  .  .  .  but  I  did  n't.    I  went  down  the  other  side. 

Till  the  snow  ran  out  in  flowers,  and  the  flowers  turned  to  aloes. 
And  the  aloes  sprung  to  thickets  and  a  brimming  stream 
ran  by; 
But  the  thickets  dwined  to  thorn-scrub,  and  the  water  drained 
to  shallows. 
And  I  dropped  again  on  desert  —  blasted  earth,  and  blasting 
sky.  .  .  . 

I  remember  lighting  fires ;  I  remember  sitting  by  them ; 

I  remember  seeing  faces,  hearing  voices  through  the  smoke; 
I  remember  they  were  fancy  ^ —  for  I  threw  a  stone  to  try  'em. 

"  Something  lost  behind  the  Ranges  "  was  the  only  word  they 
spoke. 

I  remember  going  crazy.     I  remember  that  I  knew  it 

When  I  heard  myself  hallooing  to  the  funny  folk  I  saw. 
Very  full  of  dreams  that  desert :  but  my  two  legs  took  me  through 
it  .  .  . 
And  I  used  to  watch  'em  moving  with  the  toes  all  black  and 
raw. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  21 

But  at  last  the  country  altered  —  White  Man's  countr}^  past 
disputing  — 
Rolling  grass  and  open  timber,  with  a  hint  of  hills  behind  — 
There  I  found  me  food  and  water,  and  I  lay  a  week  recruiting, 
Got  my  strength  and  lost  my  nightmares.     Then  I  entered 
on  my  find. 

Thence  I  ran  my  first  rough  survey  —  chose  my  trees  and  blazed 
and  ringed  'em  — 
Week  by  week  I  pried  and  sampled  —  week  by  week  my 
findings  grew. 
Saul  he  went  to  look  for  donkeys,  and  by  God  he  found  a 
kingdom  ! 
But  by  God,  who  sent  His  Whisper,  I  had  struck  the  worth 
of  two ! 

Up  along  the  hostile  mountains,  where  the  hair-poised  snow- 
slide  shivers  — 
DowTi  and  through  the  big  fat  marshes  that  the  virgin  ore-bed 
stains, 
Till  I  heard  the  mile-wide  mutterings  of  unimagined  rivers. 
And  beyond  the  nameless  timber  saw  illimitable  plains  ! 

Plotted  sites  of  future  cities,  traced  the  easy  grades  between  'em ; 
W^atched  unharnessed  rapids  wasting  fifty  thousand  head  an 
hour; 
Counted  leagues  of  water-frontage  through  the  axe-ripe  woods 
that  screen  'em  — 
Saw  the  plant  to  feed  a  people  —  up  and  waiting  for  the 
power ! 

Well  I  know  who  '11  take  the  credit  —  all  the  clever  chaps  that 
followed  — 
Came,  a  dozen  men  together  —  never  knew  my  desert  fears ; 
Tracked  me  by  the  camps  I  'd  quitted,  used  the  water-holes  I  'd 
hollowed. 
They'll  go  back  and  do  the  talking.     They'll  be  called  the 
Pioneers ! 


22  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

They  will  find  my  sites  of  townships  —  not  the  cities  that  I  set 
there. 
They  will  rediscover  rivers  —  not  my  rivers  heard  at  night. 
By  my  own  old  marks  and  bearings  they  will  show  me  how  to 
get  there, 
By  the  lonely  cairns  I  builded  they  will  guide  my  feet  aright. 


Have  I  named  one  single  river?     Have  I  claimed  one  single 
acre  ? 
Have  I  kept  one  single  nugget — (barring  samples)  ?     No, 
not  I  ! 
Because  my  price  was  paid  me  ten  times  over  by  my  Maker. 
But  you  wouldn't  understand  it.      You  go  up  and  occupy. 


Ores  you  '11  find  there ;  wood  and  cattle ;  water-transit  sure  and 
steady 
(That  should  keep  the  railway  rates  down),  coal  and  iron  at 
your  doors. 
God  took  care  to  hide  that  country  till  He  judged  His  people 
ready. 
Then  He  chose  me  for  His  Whisper,  and  I've  found  it,  and 
it 's  yours ! 


Yes,    your    "Never-never    country"  —  yes,    your    "edge    of 
cultivation  " 
And  "no  sense  in  going  further"  —  till  I  crossed  the  range 
to  see. 
God  forgive  me !     No,  I  did  n't.     It 's  God's  present  to  our 
nation. 
Anybody  might  have  found  it  but  —  His  Whisper  came  to 
Me! 


R  U  D  Y  A  11  D     KIPLING  23 

THE   SEA  AND   THE   HILLS 

1902 


W] 


HO   hath   desired   the   Sea?  —  the   sight   of   salt   water 
unbounded  — 
The  heave  and  the  halt  and  the  hurl  and  the  crash  of  the 

comber  wind-hounded? 
The  sleek-barrelled  swell  before  storm,  grey,  foamless,  enor- 
mous,  and   growing  — 
Stark  calm  on  the  lap  of  the  Line  or  the  crazy-eyed  hurricane 

blowing  — 
His  Sea  in  no  showing  the  same  —  his   Sea   and  the   same 
'neath  each  showing  — 

His  Sea  as  she  slackens  or  thrills? 
So  and  no  othei'wise  —  so  and  no  otherwise  —  hillmen  desire 
their  Hills ! 

Who  hath  desired  the  Sea?  —  the  immense  and  contemptuous 
surges? 

The  shudder,  the  stumble,  the  swerve,  as  the  star-stabbing 
bowsprit  emerges? 

The  orderly  clouds  of  the  Trades,  and  the  ridged,  roaring 
sapphire  thereunder  — 

Unheralded    cliff-haunting    flaws    and    the    headsaiPs     low- 
volleying  thunder  — 

His   Sea   in   no  wonder  the   same  —  his    Sea   and  the   same 
through  each  wonder: 

His  Sea  as  she  rages  or  stills? 

So  and  no  otherwise  —  so  and  no  otherwise  —  hillmen  desire 
their  Hills. 

Who    hath    desired    the    Sea?      Her   menaces    swift    as    her 

mercies, 
The  in-rolling  walls  of  the  fog  and  the  silver-winged  breeze 

that  disperses? 


24  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

The  unstable  mined  berg  going  South  and  the  calvings  and 

groans  that  declare  it  — 
White  water  half-guessed   overside  and  the  moon   breaking 

timely  to  bare  it ; 
His  Sea  as  his  fathers  have  dared  —  his  Sea  as  his  children 

shall  dare  it  — 

His  Sea  as  she  serves  him  or  kills  ? 
So  and  no  otherwise  —  so  and  no  otherwise  —  hillmen  desire 

their  Hills« 


Who  hath  desired  the  Sea?     Her  excellent  loneliness  rather 
Than  forecourts  of  kings,  and  her  outermost  pits  than  the 

streets  where  men  gather 
Inland,  among  dust,  under  trees  —  inland  where  the  slayer 

may  slay  him  — 
Inland,  out  of  reach  of  her  arms,  and  the  bosom  wLereon  he 

must  lay  him  — 
His  Sea  at  the  first  that  betrayed  —  at  the  last  that  shall 

never  betray  him  — 

His  Sea  that  his  being  fulfils? 
So  and  no  otherwise  —  so  and  no  otherwise  —  hillmen  desire 

their  Hills. 


H 


ANCHOR   SONG 

1893 

EH!      Walk   her    round.      Heave,    ah,    heave   her    short 
again ! 


Over,  snatch  her  over,  there,  and  hold  her  on  the  pawl. 
Loose  all  sail,  and  brace  your  yards  back  and  full  — 
Ready  jib  to  pay  her  off  and  heave  short  all! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  25 

Well,  ah,  fare  you  well ;   we  can  stay  no  more  with  you,  my 
love  — 
Down,  set  down  your  liquor  and  your  girl  from  off  your 
knee; 

For  the  wind  has  come  to  say : 
"  You  must  take  me  while  you  may. 
If  you  'd  go  to  Mother  Carey 
(Walk  her  down  to  Mother  Carey!), 
Oh,  we  're  bound  to  Mother  Carey  where  she  feeds  her 
chicks  at  sea !  " 

Heh !    Walk  her  round.    Break,  ah  break  it  out  o'  that ! 

Break  our  starboard-bower  out,  apeak,  awash,  and  clear! 
Port  —  port   she  casts,   with   the   harbour-mud   beneath  her 
foot. 

And  that 's  the  last  o'  bottom  we  shall  see  this  year ! 

Well,  ah,  fare  you  well,  for  we  've  got  to  take  her  out 
again  — 
Take  her  out  in  ballast,  riding  light  and  cargo-free. 
And  it 's  time  to  clear  and  quit 
When  the  hawser  grips  the  bitt, 
So  we  '11  pay  you  with  the  foresheet  and  a  promise  from 
the  sea ! 

Heh !    Tally  on.    Aft  and  walk  away  with  her ! 

Handsome  to  the  cathead,  now ;   O  tally  on  the  fall ! 
Stop,  seize  and  fish,  and  easy  on  the  davit-guy. 

Up,  well  up  the  fluke  of  her,  and  inboard  haul ! 

Well,  ah,  fare  you  well,  for  the  Channel  wind  's  took  hold 
of  us. 
Choking  down  our  voices  as  we  snatch  the  gaskets  free. 
And  it 's  blowing  up  for  night, 
And  she  's  dropping  light  on  light, 
And  she  's  snorting  and  she  's  snatching  for  a  breath  of 
open  sea! 


26  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Wheel,  full  and  by ;  but  she  '11  smell  her  road  alone  to-night. 

Sick  she  is  and  harbour-sick  —  oh,  sick  to  clear  the  land ! 
Roll  down  to  Brest  with  the  old  Red  Ensign  over  us  — 

Carry  on  and  thrash  her  out  with  all  she  '11  stand ! 


Well,  ah,  fare  jo\i  well,  and  it 's  Ushant  slams  the  door 
on  us. 
Whirling  like  a  windmill  through  the  dirty  scud  to  lee: 
Till  the  last,  last  flicker  goes 
From  the  tumbling  water-rows, 
And  we  're  off  to  Mother  Carey 
(Walk  her  down  to  Mother  Carey!), 
Oh,  we  're  bound  for  Mother  Carey  where  she  feeds  her 
chicks  at  sea! 


RHYME  OF  THE   THREE   SEALERS 

1893 

-^  WAY  hy  the  lands  of  the  Japanee 

Where  the  paper  lanterns  glow 
And  the  crews  of  all  the  shipping  drink 

In  the  house  of  Blood  Street  Joe, 
At  twilight y  when  the  landward  breeze 

Brings  up  the  harbour  noise. 
And  ebb  of  Yokohama  Bay 

Swigs  chattering  through  the  bitoySy 
In  Cisco^s  Dewdrop  Dvning  Rooms 

They  tell  the  tale  anexo 
Of  a  hidden  sea  and  a  hidden  fight. 
When  the  Baltic  ran  from  the  Northern  Liglit 

And  the  Stralsund  fqught  the  two. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  I)     KIPLING  27 

Now  this  is  the  Law  of  the  Muscovite,  that  he  proves  with 

shot  and  steel, 
When  you  come  by  his  isles  in  the  Smoky  Sea  you  must  not 

take  the  seal, 
Where   the   grey   sea   goes   nakedly   between   the   weed-hung 

shelves, 
And  the  Httle  blue  fox  he  is  bred  for  his  skin  and  the  seal  they 

breed  for  themselves ; 
For  when  the  matkas  ^    seek  the   shore  to   drop  their   pups 

aland, 
The  great  man-seal  haul  out  of  the  sea,  aroaring,  band  by 

band. 
And  when  the  first  September  gales  have  slaked  their  rutting- 

wrath. 
The  great  man-seal  haul  back  to  the  sea  and  no  man  knows 

their  path. 
Then  dark  they  lie  and  stark  they  lie  —  rookery,  dune,  and 

floe. 
And  the  Northern  Lights  come  down  o'  nights  to  dance  with 

the  houseless  snow ; 
And  God  Who   clears   the   grounding  berg   and   steers   the 

grinding  floe, 
He  hears  the  cry  of  the  little  kit-fox  and  the  wind  along  the 

snow. 
But  since  our  women  must  walk  gay  and  money  buys  their 

gear, 
The  sealing-boats  they  filch  that  way  at  hazard  year  by  year. 
English  they  be  and  Japanee  that  hang  on  the  BrowTi  Bear's 

flank, 
And  some  be  Scot,  but  the  worst  of  the  lot,  and  the  boldest 

thieves,  be  Yank ! 

It  was  the  sealer  Northern  Light,  to  the  Smoky  Seas  she  bore. 
With  a  stovepipe  stuck  from  a  starboard  port  and  the  Rus- 
sian flag  at  her  fore. 

*  She-sea^ 


28  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

{Balticy   Stralsund,    and  Northern  Light  —  oh !    they   were 

birds  of  a  feather  — 
SHpping     away     to     the     Smoky     Seas,     three     seal-thieves 

together!) 
And  at  last  she  came  to  a  sandy  cove  and  the  Baltic  lay 

therein, 
But  her  men  were  up  with  the  herding  seal  to  drive  and  club 

and  skin. 
There  were  fifteen  hundred  skins  abeach,  cool  pelt  and  proper 

fur. 
When  the  Northern  Light  drove  into  the  bight  and  the  sea- 
mist  drove  with  her. 
The   Baltic    called   her   men    and   weighed  —  she   could   not 

choose  but  run  — 
For  a  stovepipe  seen  through  the  closing  mist,  it  shows  like  a 

four-inch  gun 
(And  loss  it  is  that  is  sad  as  death  to  lose  both  trip  and  ship 
And  lie  for  a  rotting  contraband  on  Vladivostock  slip). 
She  turned  and  dived  in  the  sea-smother  as  a  rabbit  dives  in 

the  whins, 
And  the  Northern  Light  sent  up  her  boats  to  steal  the  stolen 

skins. 
They  had  not  brought  a  load  to  side  or  slid  their  hatches 

clear. 
When  they  were  aware  of  a  sloop-of-war,  ghost  white  and 

very  near. 
Her  flag  she  showed,  and  her  guns  she  showed  —  three   of 

them,  black,  abeam. 
And  a  funnel  white  with  the  crusted  salt,  but  never  a  show  of 

steam. 

There  was  no  time  to  man   the  brakes,  they  knocked   the 

shackle  free. 
And  the  Northern  Light  stood  out  again,  goose-winged  to 

open  sea. 
(For  life  it  is  that  is  worse  than  death,  by  force  of  Russian 

law 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  29 

To  work  in  the  mines  of  mercury  that  loose  the  teeth  in  your 

jaw.) 
They  had  not  run  a  mile  from  shore  —  they  heard  no  shots 

behind  — 
When  the  skipper  smote  his  hand  on  his  thigh  and  threw  her 

up  in  the  wind : 
"  Bluffed  —  raised  out  on  a  bluff,"  said  he,  "  for  if  my  name  's 

Tom  Hall, 
"  You  must  set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief  —  and  a  thief  has 

caught  us  all! 
"  By  every  butt  in  Oregon  and  every  spar  in  Maine, 
"  The  hand  that  spilled  the  wind  from  her  sail  was  the  hand 

of  Reuben  Paine ! 
"  He  has  rigged  and  trigged  her  with  paint  and  spar,  and, 

faith,  he  has  faked  her  well  — 
"  But  I  'd  know  the  Stralsund's  deckhouse  yet  from  here  to 

the  booms  o'  Hell. 
"  Oh,  once  we  ha'  met  at  Baltimore,  and  twice  on  Boston  pier, 
"  But  the  sickest  day  for  you,  Reuben  Paine,  was  the  day 

that  you  came  here  — 
"  The  day  that  you  came  here,  ray  lad,  to  scare  us  from  our 

seal 
"  With  your  funnel  made  o'  your  painted  cloth,  and  your 

guns  o'  rotten  deal! 
'•  Ring  and  blow  for  the  Baltic  now,  and  head  her  back  to  the 

bay, 
"  And  we  '11  come  into  the  game  again  —  with  a  double  deck 

to  play !  " 

They  rang  and  blew  the  sealers'  call  —  the  poaching  cry  of 

the  sea  — 
And  they  raised  the  Baltic  out  of  the  mist,  and  an  angry  ship 

was  she. 
And  blind  they  groped  through  the  whirHng  white  and  blind 

to  the  bay  again, 
Till  they  heard  the  creak  of  the  Stralsund's  boom  and  the 

clank  of  her  mooring  chain. 


30  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

They  laid  them  down  by  bitt  and  boat,  their  pistols  in  their 

belts, 
And :  "  Will  you  fight  for  it,  Reuben  Paine,  or  will  you  share 

the  pelts?" 

A  dog-toothed  laugh  laughed  Reuben  Paine,  and  bared  his 

flenching-knife. 
"  Yea,  skin  for  skin,  and  all  that  he  hath  a  man  will  give  for 

his  life ; 
But  I  've  six  thousand  skins  below,  and  Yeddo  Port  to  see. 
And  there's  never  a  law  of  God  or  man  runs  north  of  Fifty- 
Three  : 
So  go  in  peace  to  the  naked  seas  with  empty  holds  to  fill. 
And  I  '11  be  good  to  your  seal  this  catch,  as  many  as  I  shall  kill ! " 

Answered  the  snap  of  a  closing  lock  —  the  jar  of  a  gun-butt 

slid. 
But  the  tender  fog  shut  fold  on  fold  to  hide  the  wrong  they  did. 
The  weeping  fog  rolled  fold  on  fold  the  wrath  of  man  to  cloak. 
As  the  flame-spurts  pale  ran  down  the  rail  and  the  sealing-rifles 

spoke. 
The  bullets  bit  on  bend  and  butt,  the  splinter  slivered  free 
(Little  they  trust  to  sparrow-dust  that  stop  the  seal  in  his  sea  !), 
The  thick  smoke  hung  and  would  not  shift,  leaden  it  lay  and 

blue. 
But  three  were  down  on  the  Baltic's  deck  and  two  of  the  Stral- 

sund's  crew. 
An  arm's  length  out  and  overside  the  banked  fog  held  them 

bound. 
But,  as  they  heard  or  groan  or  word,  they  fired  at  the  sound. 
For  one  cried  out  on  the  Name  of  God,  and  one  to  have  him 

cease. 
And  the  questing  volley  found  them  both  and  bade  them  hold 

their  peace. 
And  one  called  out  on  a  heathen  joss  and  one  on  the  Virgin's 

Name, 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  31 

And  the  schooling  bullet  leaped  across  and  led  them  whence 

they  came. 
And  in  the  waiting  silences  the  rudder  whined  beneath, 
And  each  man  drew  his  watchful  breath  slow  taken  'tw^een  the 

teeth  — 
Trigger  and  ear  and  eye  acock,  knit  brow  and  hard-drawn  lips  — 
Bracing  his  feet  by  chock  and  cleat  for  the  rolling  of  the  ships. 
Till  they  heard  the  cough  of  a  wounded  man  that  fought  in  the 

fog  for  breath, 
Till  they  heard  the  torment  of  Reuben  Paine  that  wailed  upon 

his  death : 


"The  tides  they'll  go  through  Fundy  Race,  but  I'll  go  never 

more 
"And  see  the  hogs  from  ebb-tide  mark  turn  scampering  back  to 

shore. 
"No  more  I  '11  see  the  trawlers  drift  below  the  Bass  Rock  ground, 
"Or  watch  the  tall  Fall  steamer  lights  tear  blazing  up  the  Sound. 
"Sorrow  is  me,  in  a  lonely  sea  and  a  sinful  fight  I  fall, 
"But  if  there 's  law  o'  God  or  man  you '11  swing  for  it  yet,  Tom 

HaU!" 


Tom  Hall  stood  up  by  the  quarter-rail.     "Your  words  in  your 

teeth,"  said  he. 
"  There  's  never  a  law  of  God  or  man  runs  north  of  Fifty-Three. 
"So  go  in  grace  with  Him  to  face,  and  an  ill-spent  life  behind, 
"And  I'll  be  good  to  your  widows.  Rube,  as  many  as  I  shall 

find." 
A  Stralsund  man  shot  blind  and  large,  and  a  warlock  Finn 

was  he. 
And  he  hit  Tom  Hall  with  a  bursting  ball  a  hand's-breadth  over 

the  knee. 
Tom  Hall  caught  hold  by  the  topping-lift,  and  sat  him  down  with 

an  oath, 
"You'll  wait  a  little.  Rube,"  he  said,  "the  Devil  has  called  for 

both. 


32  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

"The  Devil  is  driving  both  this  tide,  and  the  kiUing-grounds  are 
close, 

"And  we'll  go  up  to  the  Wrath  of  God  as  the  hoUuschickie ^ 
goes. 

"O  men,  put  back  your  guns  again  and  lay  your  rifles  by, 

"We've  fought  our  fight,  and  the  best  are  down.  Let  up  and 
let  us  die ! 

"  Quit  firing,  by  the  bow  there  —  quit !    Call  off  the  Baltic's  crew  ! 

"You're  sure  of  Hell  as  me  or  Rube  —  but  wait  till  we  get 
through." 

There  went  no  w^ord  between  the  ships,  but  thick  and  quick  and 
loud 

The  life-blood  drummed  on  the  dripping  decks,  with  the  fog- 
dew  from  the  shroud. 

The  sea-pull  drew  them  side  by  side,  gunnel  to  gunnel  laid, 

And  they  felt  the  sheerstrakes  pound  and  clear,  but  never  a  word 
was  said. 

Then  Reuben  Paine  cried  out  again  before  his  spirit  passed: 
"  Have  I  followed  the  sea  for  thirty  years   to  die  in  the  dark 

at  last? 
"Curse  on  her  work  that  has  nipped  me  here  with  a  shifty  trick 

unkind  — 
"  I  have  gotten  my  death  where  I  got  my  bread,  but  I  dare  not 

face  it  blind. 
"  Curse  on  the  fog  !      Is  there  never  a  wind  of  all  the  winds  I 

knew 
"  To  clear  the  smother  from  off  my  chest,  and  let  me  look  at  the 

blue.?" 
The  good  fog  heard  —  like  a  splitten  sail,  to  left  and  right  she 

tore, 
And  they  saw  the  sun-dogs  in  the  haze  and  the  seal  upon  the 

shore. 
Silver  and  grey  ran  spit  and  bay  to  meet  the  steel-backed  tide. 
And  pinched  and  white  in  the  clearing  light  the  crews  stared 

overside. 

*  The  young  seal. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  33 

O  rainbow-gay  the  red  pools  lay  that  swilled  and  spilled  and 

spread, 
And  gold,  raw  gold,  the  spent  shell  rolled  between  the  careless 

dead  — 
The  dead  that  rocked  so  drunkenwise  to  weather  and  to  lee, 
And  they  saw  the  work  their  hands  had  done  as  God  had  bade 

them  see ! 


And  a  little  breeze  blew  over  the  rail  that  made  the  headsails  lift, 
But  no  man  stood  by  wheel  or  sheet,  and  they  let  the  schooners 

drift. 
And  the  rattle  rose  in  Reuben's  throat  and  he  cast  his  soul  with 

a  cry, 
And  *'Gone  already?"  Tom   Hall  he  said.     "Then   it's   time 

for  me  to  die.  " 
His  eyes  were  hea\y  with  great  sleep  and  yearning  for  the  land. 
And  he  spoke  as  a  man  that  talks  in  dreams,  his  wound  beneath 

his  hand. 


*'  Oh,  there  comes  no  good  o'  the  westering  wind  that  backs 

against  the  sun ; 
"  Wash  down  the  decks  —  they  're  all  too  red  —  and  share  the 

skins  and  run, 
^'Baltic,  Stralsund,  and  Northern  Light  —  clean  share  and  share 

for  all, 
*'  You  '11  find  the  fleets  off  Tolstoi  Mees,  but  you  will  not  find 

Tom  Hall. 
"Evil  he  did  in  shoal-water  and  blacker  sin  on  the  deep, 
"But  now  he 's  sick  of  v\^atch  and  trick  and  now  he '11  turn  and 

sleep. 
"He  '11  have  no  more  of  the  crawling  sea  that  made  him  suffer  so, 
"But  he'll  lie  down  on  the  killing-grounds  where  the  hollu- 

schickie  go. 
"And  west  you  '11  sail  and  south  again,  beyond  the  sea-fog's  rim, 
"And  tell  the  Yoshiwara  girls  to  burn  a  stick  for  him. 
"  And  you  '11  not  weight  him  by  the  heels  and  dump  him  overside, 

3 


34  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

"But  carry  him  up  to  the  sand-hollows  to  die  as  Bering  died, 
"And  make  a  place  for  Reuben  Paine  that  knows  the  fight  was 

fair, 
"And  leave  the  two  that  did  the  wrong  to  talk  it  over  there !" 

Half-steam  ahead  by  guess  and  lead,  for  the  sun  is  mostly  veiled  — 
Through  fog  to  fog,  by  luck  and  log,  sail  you  as  Bering  sailed; 
And  if  the  light  shall  lift  aright  to  give  your  landfall  plain. 
North  and   by  west,  from   Zapne   Crest  you  raise    the   Crosses 

Twain. 
Fair  marks  are  they  to  the  inner  bay,  the  reckless  poacher  knows. 
What  time  the  scarred  see-catchie  lead  their  sleek  seraglios. 
Ever  they  hear  the  floe-pack  clear,  and  the  blast  of  the  old  bull- 
whale. 
And  the  deep  seal-roar  that  beats  off-shore  above  the  loudest  gale. 
Ever  they  wait  the  winter*s  hate  as  the  thundering  boorga  calls. 
Where  northtvard  look  they  to  St.  George,  and  westward  to  St. 

PauVs. 
Ever  they  greet  the  hunted  fleet  —  lone  keels  off  headlands  drear  — 
When  the  sealing -schooners  flit  that  way  at  hazard  year  by  year. 
Ever  in  Yokohama  port  men  tell  the  tale  anew 

Of  a  hidden  sea  and  a  hidden  fight. 

When  the  Baltic  ran  from  the  Northern  Light 
And  the  Stralsund  fought  the  two. 


M' ANDREW'S  HYMN 
1893 


L 


ORD,  Thou  hast  made  this  world  below  the  shadow  of  a 

dream, 
An',  taught  by  time,  I  tak'  it  so  —  exceptin'  always  Steam. 
From  coupler-flange  to   spindle-guide  1   see   Thy   Hand,   O 

God  — 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  36 

Predestination  in  tlie  stride  o'  yon  connectin'-rod. 

Jolin  Calvin  might  ha'  forged  the  same  —  enorrmous,  certain, 

slow  — 
Ay,  wrought  it  in  the  furnace-flame  —  my  "  Institutio." 
I  cannot  get  my  sleep  to-night;   old  bones  are  hard  to  please; 
I  '11  stand  the  middle  watch  up  here  —  alone  wi'   God   an' 

these 
My  engines,  after  ninety  days  o'  race  an'  rack  an'  strain 
Through  all  the  seas  of  all  Thy  world,  slam-bangin'  home 

again. 
Slam-bang  too  much  —  they  knock  a  wee  —  the  crosshead- 

gibs  are  loose. 
But  thirty  thousand  mile  o'  sea  has  gied  them  fair  excuse.  .  .  . 
Fine,  clear  an'  dark  —  a  full-draught  breeze,  wi'  Ushant  out 

o'  sight, 
An'  Ferguson  relievin'  Hay.     Old  girl,  ye  '11  walk  to-night ! 
His     wife  's     at     Plymouth.   .   .  .   Seventy  —  One  —  Two  — • 

Three  since  he  began  — 
Three  turns  for  Mistress  Ferguson  .  .  .  and  who  's  to  blame 

the  man.'' 
There  's  none  at  any  port  for  me,  by  drivin'  fast  or  slow, 
Since  Elsie  Campbell  went  to  Thee,  Lord,  thirty  years  ago. 
(The  year  the  Sarah  Sands  was  burned.     Oh  roads  we  used 

to  tread, 
Fra'  Mary  hill  to  Pollokshaws  —  fra'  Govan  to  Parkhead!) 
Not  but  they  're  ceevil  on  the  Board.    Ye  '11  hear  Sir  Kenneth 

say: 
"  Good  morm,  M' Andrew !     Back  again .?     An'  how  's  your 

bilge  to-day  ?  " 
Miscallin'  technicalities  but  handin'  me  my  chair 
To  drink  Madeira  wa'  three  Earls  —  the  auld  Fleet  Engineer 
That  started  as  a  boiler-whelp  —  when  steam  and  he  were 

low. 
/  mind  the  time  we  used  to  serve  a  broken  pipe  wi'  tow ! 
Ten  pound  was  all  the  pressure  then  —   Eh !    Eh !  —  a  man 

wad  drive; 
An'  here,  our  workin'  gauges  give  one  hunder  sixty-five ! 


S6  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

We  're  creepin'  on  wi'  each  new  rig  —  less  weight  an'  larger 

power  : 
There  '11  be  the  loco-boiler  next  an'  thirty  knots  an  hour ! 
Thirty  an'  more.     What  I  ha'  seen  since  ocean-steam  began 
Leaves  me  no  doot  for  the  machine:  but  what  about  the  man? 
The  man  that  counts,  wi'  all  liis  runs,  one  million  mile  o'  sea : 
Four  time  the  span  from  earth  to  moon.   .   .   .  How  far,  O 

Lord,  from  Thee.^ 
That  wast  beside  him  night   an'   day.     Ye  mind  my   first 

typhoon  ? 
It  scoughed  the  skipper  on  his  way  to  jock  wi'  the  saloon. 
Three  feet  were  on  the  stokehold-floor  —  just  slappin'  to  an' 

fro'  — 
An'  cast  me  on  a  furnace-door.     I  have  the  marks  to  show. 
Marks !    I  ha'  marks  o'  more  than  bums  —  deep  in  my  soul 

an'  black. 
An'  times  hke  tliis,  when  things  go  smooth,  my  wickudness 

comes  back. 
The  sins  o'  four  an'  forty  years,  all  up  an'  down  the  seas. 
Clack    an'    repeat    like    valves    half-fed.   .   .   .  Forgie  's    our 

trespasses ! 
Nights  when  I  'd  come  on  deck  to  mark,  wi'  envy  in  my  gaze. 
The  couples  kittlin'  in  the  dark  between  the  funnel-stays ; 
Years  when  I  raked  the  Ports  wi'   pride  to  fill  my  cup  o' 

wrong  — 
Judge  not,  O  Lord,  my  steps  aside  at  Gay  Street  in  Hong- 
Kong  ! 
Blot  out  the  wastrel  hours  of  mine  in  sin  when  I  abode  — 
Jane  Harrigan's  an'  Number  Nine,  The  Reddick  an'  Grant 

Road! 
An'  waur  than  all  —  my  crownin'  sin  —  rank  blasphemy  an' 

wild. 
I  was  not  four  and  twenty  then  —  Ye  wadna  judge  a  child? 
I  'd  seen  the  Tropics  first  that  run  —  new  f  i-uit,  new  smells, 

new  air  — 
How  could  I  tell  —  blind-fou  wi'  sun  —  the  Deil  was  lurkin' 

there? 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  37 

By  day  like  playhouse-scenes  the  shore  slid  past  our  sleepy 

eyes ; 
By  night  those  soft,  lasceevious  stars  leered  from  those  velvet 

skies, 
In   port    (we  used  no  cargo-steam)    I  'd   daunder  down   the 

streets  — 
An  ijjit  grinnin'  in  a  dream  —  for  shells  an'  parrakeets, 
An'  walkin'-sticks  o'  carved  bamboo  an'  blowfish  stuffed  an' 

dried  — 
FiUin'  my  bunk  wi'  rubbishry  the  Chief  put  overside. 
Till,  off  Sambawa  Head,  Ye  mind,  I  heard  a  land-breeze  ca', 
Milk-warm  wi'  breath  o'  spice  an'  bloom :    "  M' Andrew,  come 

awa' !  " 
Firm,  clear  an'  low  —  no  haste,  no  hate  —  the  ghostly  whis- 
per went. 
Just  statin'  eevidential  facts  beyon'  all  argument : 
"  Your  mither's  God  's  a  graspin'  deil,  the  shadow  o'  yoursel', 
"  Got  out  o'  books  by  meenisters  clean  daft  on  Heaven  an' 

Hell. 
"  They  mak'  him  in  the  Broomielaw,  o'  Glasgie  cold  an'  dirt, 
"  A  jealous,  pridefu'  fetich,  lad,  that  's  only  strong  to  hurt, 
"  Ye  '11  not  go  back  to  Him  again  an'  kiss  His  red-hot  rod, 
"  But  come  wi'  Us  "  (Now,  who  were  They?)  "  an'  know  the 

Leevin'  God, 
"  That  does  not  kipper  souls   for  sport  or  break   a  life  in 

jest, 
"  But   swells   the   ripenin'   cocoanuts   an'    ripes   the   woman's 

breast." 
An'  there  it  stopped:    cut  off:    no  more;    that  quiet,  certain 

voice  — 
For  me,  six  months  o'  twenty-four,  to  leave  or  take  at  choice. 
'T  was  on  me  like  a  thunderclap  —  it  racked  me  through  an' 

through  — 
Temptation  past  the  show  o'  speech,  unnameable  an'  new  — 
The  Sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost?  .   .   .  An'  under  all,  our 

screw. 
That  storm  blew  by  but  left  behind  her  anchor-shiftin'  swell, 


38  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Thou  knowest  all  my  heart  an'  mind,  Thou  knowest,  Lord,  I 

fell.  — 
Third  on  the  Mary  Gloster  then,  and  first  that  night  in  Hell ! 
Yet  was  Thy  hand  beneath  m.y   head,  about  my   feet  Thy 

care  — 
Fra'  Deli  clear  to  Torres  Strait,  the  trial  o'  despair, 
But  when  we  touched  the  Barrier  Reef  Thy  answer  to  my 

prayer ! 
We  dared  not  run  that  sea  by  night  but  lay  an'  held  our 

fire. 
An'  I  was  drowsin'  on  the  hatch  —  sick  —  sick  wi'  doubt 

an'  tire: 
"  Better  the  sight  of  eyes  that  see  than  wanderin*  o*  desire!  " 
Ye  mind  that  word  ?     Clear  as  our  gongs  —  again,  an'  once 

again. 
When  rippin'  down  through  coral-trash  ran  out  our  moorin'- 

chain ; 
An'  by  Thy  Grace  I  had  the  Light  to  see  my  duty  plain. 
Light  on  the  engine-room  —  no  more  —  bright  as  our  car- 
bons burn. 
I  've  lost  it  since  a  thousand  times,  but  never  past  return ! 

•  •••••• 

Obsairve.     Per  annum  we  '11  have  here  two  thousand  souls 

aboard  — 
Think  not  I  dare  to  justify  myself  before  the  Lord, 
But  —  aaverage  fifteen  hunder  souls  safe-borne  fra'  port  to 

port  — 
I  am  o'  service  to  my  kind.     Ye  wadna  blame  the  thought? 
Maybe  they  steam  from  Grace  to  Wrath  —  to  sin  by  folly 

led,  — 
It  isna  mine  to  judge  their  path  —  their  lives  are  on  my 

head. 
Mine  at  the  last  —  when  all  is  done  it  all  comes  back  to  me, 
The  fault  that  leaves  six  thousand  ton  a  log  upon  the  sea. 
We  '11  tak'  one  stretch  —  three  weeks  an'  odd  by  any  road 

ye  steer  — 
Fra'  Cape  Town  east  to  Wellington  —  ye  need  an  engineer. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  39 

Fail  there  —  ye  've  time  to  weld  your  sliaft  —  ay,  eat  it,  ere 

ye  're  spoke ; 
Or  make  Kerguclen  under  sail  —  three  jiggers  burned  wi' 

smoke! 
An'  home  again  —  the  Rio  run :  it  's  no  child's  play  to  go 
Steamin'  to  bell  for  fourteen  days  o'  snow  an'  floe  an'  blow  — 
The  bergs  like  kelpies  overside  that  girn  an'  turn  an'  shift 
Whaur,  grindin'  like  the  Mills  o'  God,  goes  by  the  big  South 

drift. 
(Hail,  Snow  and  Ice  that  praise  the  Lord:   I  've  met  them  at 

their  work, 
An'  wished  we  had  anither  route  or  they  anither  kirk.) 
Yon  's  strain,  hard  strain,  o'  head  an'  hand,  for  though  Thy 

Power  brings 
All  skill  to  naught.  Ye  'U  understand  a  man  must  think  o' 

things. 
Then,  at  the  last,  we  '11  get  to  port  an'  hoist  their  baggage 

clear  — 
The  passengers,  wi'  gloves  an'  canes  —  an'  this  is  what  I  '11 

hear: 
"  Well,  thank  ye  for  a  pleasant  voyage.    The  tender  's  comin' 

now." 
While  I  go  testin'  follower-bolts  an'  watch  the  skipper  bow. 
They  've  words  for  every  one  but  me  —  shake  hands  wi'  half 

the  crew. 
Except  the  dour  Scots  engineer,  the  man  they  never  knew. 
An'  yet  I  like  the  wark  for  all  we  've  dam'  few  pickin's  here  — 
No  pension,  an'  the  most  we  '11  earn  's  four  hunder  pound  a 

year. 
Better    myself    abroad  ?     Maybe.     /  ^d    sooner    starve    than 

sail 
Wi'  such  as  call  a  snifter-rod  ross.  .  .  .  French  for  night- 
ingale. 
Commeesion  on  my  stores.''     Some  do;    but  I  cannot  afford 
To   lie   like   stewards   wi'   patty-pans.     I  'm   older   than   the 

Board. 
A  bonus  on  the  coal  I  save.?    Ou  ay,  the  Scots  are  close. 


40  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

But  when  I  grudge  the  strength  Ye  gave  I  '11  grudge  their 

food  to  those. 
(There 's   bricks   that   I   might   recommend  —  an'    chnk   the 

fire-bars  cruel. 
No !    Welsh  —  Wangarti  at  the  worst  —  an'  damn  all  patent 

fuel !) 
Inventions?     Ye  must  stay  in  port  to  mak'  a  patent  pay. 
My  Deeferential  Valve-Gear   taught  me  how  that  business 

lay, 
I  blame  no  chaps  wi'  clearer  head  for  aught  they  make  or  sell. 
/  found  that  I  could  not  invent  an'  look  to  these  as  well. 
So,  wrestled  wi'  Apollyon  —  Nah  !  —  fretted  like  a  bairn  — 
But  burned  the  workin'-plans  last  run  wi'  all  I  hoped  to  earn. 
Ye  know  how  hard  an  Idol  dies,  an'  what  that  meant  to  me  — 
E'en  tak'  it  for  a  sacrifice  acceptable  to  Thee.   .   .   . 
Below  there!    Oiler!    What  '5  your  wark  ?     Ye  find  it  runnin' 

hard  ? 
Ye  need  nH  swill  the  cup  wi''  oil  —  this  is  ri't  the  Cunard! 
Ye  thought  ?     Ye  are  not  paid  to  think.     Go,  sweat  that  off 

again! 
Tck !     Tck !     It 's  deeficult  to  sweer  nor  tak'  The  Name  in 

vain ! 
Men,  ay  an'  women,  call  me  stern.    Wi'  these  to  oversee 
Ye  '11  note  I  've  Httle  time  to  burn  on  social  repartee. 
The  bairns  see  what  their  elders  miss ;   they  '11  hunt  me  to  an' 

fro. 
Till  for  the  sake  of  —  well,  a  kiss  —  I  tak'  'em  down  below. 
That  minds  me  of  our  Viscount  loon  —  Sir  Kenneth's  kin  — 

the  chap 
Wi'  Russia  leather  tennis-shoon  an'  spar-decked  yachtin'-cap. 
I  showed  him  round  last  week,  o'er  all  —  an'  at  the  last  says 

he: 
"  Mister  M' Andrew,  don't  you  think   steam   spoils   romance 

at  sea?  " 
Damned  ijjit!     I'd  been  doon  that  morn  to  see  what  ailed 

the  throws, 
Manholin',  on  my  back  —  the  cranks  three  inches  off  my  nose. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  41 

Romance!    Those  first-class  passengers  they  like  it  very  well, 
Printed  an'  bound  in  little  books ;  but  why  don't  poets  tell? 
I  'm  sick  of  all  their  quirks  an'  turns  —  the  loves  an'  doves 

they  dream  — 
Lord,  send  a  man  like  Robbie  Burns  to  sing  the  Song  o' 

Steam ! 
To  match  wi'  Scotia's  noblest  speech  yon  orchestra  sublime 
Whaurto  —  uplifted  like  the  Just  —  the  tail-rods  mark  the 

time. 
The  crank-throws  give  the  double-bass,  the  feed-pump  sobs 

an'   heaves. 
An'   now    the   main    eccentrics    start   their   quarrel   on    the 

sheaves : 
Her  time,   her   own   appointed   time,   the   rocking  link-head 

bides. 
Till  —  hear    that    note?  —  the    rod's    return    whings    glim- 

merin'   through   the  guides. 
They  're  all  awa !    True  beat,  full  power,  the  clangin'  chorus 

goes 
Clear  to  the  tunnel  where  they  sit,  my  purrin'  dynamoes. 
Interdependence   absolute,   foreseen,   ordained,  decreed. 
To  work.  Ye  '11  note,  at  any  tilt  an'  every  rate  o'  speed. 
Fra  skylight-lift  to  furnace-bars,  backed,  bolted,  braced  an' 

stayed. 
An'  singin'  like  the  Mornin'  Stars  for  joy  that  they   are 

made ; 
While,  out  o'  touch  o'  vanity,  the  sweatin'  thrust-block  says : 
"  Not  unto  us  the  praise,  or  man  —  not  unto  us  the  praise !  " 
Now,   a'  together,  hear  them  lift  their  lesson  —  theirs   an' 

mine: 
"  Law,  Orrder,  Duty  an'  Restraint,  Obedience,  Discipline !  " 
IMill,  forge  an'  try-pit  taught  them  that  when  roarin'  they 

arose. 
An'  whiles  I  wonder  if  a  soul  was  gien  them  wi'  the  blows. 
Oh  for  a  man  to  weld  it  then,  in  one  trip-hammer  strain, 
Till  even  first-class  passengers  could  tell  the  meanin'  plain! 
But  no  one  cares  except  mysel'  that  serve  an'  understand 


42  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

My  seven  thousand  horse-power  here.     Eh,  Lord !     They  're 

grand  —  they  're  grand ! 
Uplift   am  I?     When   first  in   store  the  new-made  beasties 

stood, 
Were  Ye  cast  down  that  breathed  the  Word  declarin'  all 

things  good? 
Not  so!     O'  that  warld-liftin'  joy  no  after-fall  could  vex, 
Ye  've  left  a  glimmer  still  to  cheer  the  Man  —  the  Arrtifex ! 
That  holds,  in  spite  o'  knock  and  scale,  o'  friction,  waste  an' 

slip. 
An'  by  that  light  —  now,  mark  my  word  —  we  '11  build  the 

Perfect  Ship. 
I  '11  never  last  to  judge  her  lines  or  take  her  curve  —  not  L 
But  I  ha'  lived  an'  I  ha'  worked.     'Be  thanks  to  Thee,  Most 

High! 
An'  I  ha'  done  what  I  ha'  done  —  judge  Thou  if  ill  or  well  — 
Always  Thy  Grace  preventin'  me.   .  .  . 

Losh !    Yon  's  the  "  Stand  by  "  bell. 
Pilot  so  soon?     His  flare  it  is.     The  mornin'-watch  is  set. 
Well,  God  be  thanked,  as  I  was  sayin',  I  'm  no  Pelagian  yet. 
Now  I  '11  tak'  on.  .  .  . 

^Morrn,  Ferguson.     Man,  have  ye  ever  thought 
What  your  good  leddy  costs  in  coal?  ,  .  ,  I'll  hum  'em 

down  to  port. 


MULHOLLAND'S  CONTRACT 

1894 

1  HE  fear  was  on  the  cattle,  for  the  gale  was  on  the  sea, 
An'  the  pens  broke  up  on  the  lower  deck  an'  let  the  creatures 

free  — 
An'  the  lights  went  out  on  the  lower  deck,  an'  no  one  near  but 

me. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  43 

I  had  been  singin'  to  them  to  keep  'em  quiet  there, 

For  the  lower  deck  is  the  dangerousest,   requirin'   constant 

care, 
An'  give  to  me  as  the  strongest  man,  though  used  to  drink 

and  swear. 

I  see  my  chance  was  certain  of  bein'  horned  or  trod. 

For  the  lower  deck  was  packed  with  steers  thicker  'n  peas 

in  a  pod. 
An'  more  pens  broke  at  every  roll  —  so  I  made  a  Contract 

with  God. 

An'  by  the  terms  of  the  Contract,  as  I  have  read  the  same, 
If  He  got  me  to  port  alive  I  would  exalt  His  Name, 
An'  praise  His  Holy  Majesty  till  further  orders  came. 

He  saved  me  from  the  cattle  an'  He  saved  me  from  the  sea. 
For  they  found  me  'tween  two  drownded  ones  where  the  roll 

had  landed  me  — 
An'  a  four-inch  crack  on  top  of  my  head,  as  crazy  as  could 

be. 

But  that  were  done  by  a  stanchion,  an'  not  by  a  bullock  at  all, 
An'  I  lay  still  for  seven  weeks  convalessing  of  the  fall, 
An'    readin'    the    shiny    Scripture    texts    in    the    Seaman's 
Hospital. 

An'  I  spoke  to  God  of  our  Contract,  an'  He  says  to  my  prayer : 
"  I  never  puts  on  My  ministers  no  more  than  they  can  bear. 
"  So  back  you  go  to  the  cattle-boats  an'  preach  ]\Iy  Gospel 
there. 

"  For  human  life  is  chancy  at  any  kind  of  trade, 
"  But  most  of  all,  as  well  you  know,  when  the  steers  are  mad- 
afraid  ; 
"  So  you  go  back  to  the  cattle-boats  an'  preach  'em  as  I  've 
said. 


44  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

"  They  must  quit  drinkin'  an'  swearin',  they  must  n't  knife  on 

a  blow, 
"  They  must  quit  gamblin'  their  wages,  and  you  must  preach 

it  so ; 
"  For  now  those  boats  are  more  like  Hell  than  anything  else 

I  know." 

I  did  n't  want  to  do  it,  for  I  knew  what  I  should  get, 

An'  I  wanted  to  preach  Religion,  handsome  an'  out  of  the 

wet. 
But  the  Word  of  the  Lord  were  laid  on  me,  an'  I  done  what  I 

was  set. 

I  have  been  smit  an'  bruised,  as  warned  would  be  the  case, 
An'  turned  my  cheek  to  the  smiter  exactly  as  Scripture  says ; 
But  following  that,  I  knocked  him  down  an'  led  him  up  to 
Grace. 

An'  we  have  preaching  on  Sundays  whenever  the  sea  is  calm, 

An'  I  use  no  knife  or  pistol  an'  I  never  take  no  harm. 

For  the  Lord  abideth  back  of  me  to  guide  my  fighting  arm. 

An'  I  sign  for  four-pound-ten  a  month  and  save  the  money 

clear. 
An'  I  am  in  charge  of  the  lower  deck,  an'  I  never  lose  a  steer ; 
An'  I  believe  in  Almighty  God  an'  preach  His  Gospel  here. 

The  skippers  say  I  'm  crazy,  but  I  can  prove  'em  wrong, 
For  I  am  in  charge  of  the  lower  deck  with  all  that  doth  be- 
long — 
Which  they  wovld  not  give  to  a  lunaticy  and  the  competition 
so  strong! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  45 

THE    "IVIARY    GLOSTER" 
1894 

1  'VE  paid  for  your  sickest   fancies ;    I  've  humoured  your 

crackedest  whim  — 
Dick,  it 's  your  daddy,  dying ;   you  've  got  to  Hsten  to  him ! 
Good  for  a  fortnight,  am  I?     The  doctor  told  you?     He  Hed. 
I  shall  go  under  by  morning,  and Put  that  nurse  out- 
side. 
'Never  seen  death  yet,  Dickie?    Well,  now  is  your  time  to  learn, 
And  you  '11  wish  you  held  my  record  before  it  comes  to  your 

turn. 
Not  counting  the  Line  and  the  Foundry,  the  yards  and  the 

village,  too, 
I  've  made  myself  and  a  milHon ;   but  I  'm  damned  if  I  made 

you. 
Master  at  two-and-twenty,  and  married  at  twenty-three  — 
Ten  thousand  men  on  the  pay-roll,  and  forty  freighters  at 

sea ! 
Fifty  years  between  'em,  and  every  year  of  it  fight, 
And  now  I  'm  Sir  Anthony  Gloster,  dying,  a  baronite : 
For  I  lunched  with  his  Royal  'Ighness  —  what  was  it  the 

papers  had? 
"  Not  least  of  our  merchant-princes."    Dickie,  that 's  me,  your 

dad! 
I  did  n't  begin  with  askings.    /  took  my  job  and  I  stuck; 
I  took  the  chances  they  would  n't,  an'  now  they  're  calling 

it  luck. 
Lord,  what  boats  I  've  handled  —  rotten  and  leaky  and  old ! 
Ran  'em,  or  —  opened  the  bilge-cock,  precisely  as  I  was  told. 
Grub  that  'ud  bind  you  crazy,  and  crews  that  'ud  turn  you 

grey, 
And  a  big  fat  lump  of  insurance  to  cover  the  risk  on  the  way. 
The  others  they  durs  n't  do  it ;    they  said  they  valued  their 

Hfe 


46  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

(They  've  served  me  since  as  skippers).    /  went,  and  I  took  my 

wife. 
Over  the  world  I  drove  'em,  married  at  twenty-three, 
And  your  mother  saving  the  money  and  making  a  man  of  me. 
/  was  content  to  be  master,  but  she  said  there  was  better  behind ; 
She  took  the  chances  I  would  n't,  and  I  followed  your  mother 

bhnd. 
She  egged  me  to  borrow  the  money,  an'  she  helped  me  to  clear 

the  loan. 
When  we  bought  half  shares  in  a  cheap  'un  and  hoisted  a  flag 

of  our  own. 
Patching  and  coaling  on  credit,  and  living  the  Lord  knew  how, 
We  started  the  Red  Ox  freighters  —  we  've  eight-and-thirty 

now. 
And  those  were  the  days  of  clippers,  and  the  freights  were 

clipper-freights. 
And  we  knew  we  were  making  our  fortune,  but  she  died  in 

Macassar  Straits  — 
By  the  Little  Paternosters,  as  you  come  to  the  Union  Bank  — 
And  we  dropped  her  in  fourteen  fathom;    I  pricked  it  oif 

where  she  sank. 
Owners  we  were,  full  owners,  and  the  boat  was  christened  for 

her. 
And  she  died  in  the  Mary  Gloster.    My  heart,  how  young  we 

were! 
So  I  went  on  a  spree  round  Java  and  well-nigh  ran  her  ashore, 
But  your  mother  came  and  warned  me  and  I  would  n't  hquor 

no  more: 
Strict  I  stuck  to  my  business,  afraid  to  stop  or  I  'd  think. 
Saving  the  money  (she  warned  me),  and  letting  the  other  men 

drink. 
And  I  met  M'CuUough  in  London   (I  'd  saved  five  'undred 

then). 
And  'tween  us  we  started  the  Foundry  —  three  forges  and 

twenty  men: 
Cheap  repairs  for  the  cheap  'uns.     It  paid,  and  the  busin  ss 

grew. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  47 

For  I  bought  me  a  steam-lathe  patent,  and  that  was  a  gold 

mine  too. 
"  Cheaper  to  build  'em  than  buy  'em,"  /  said,  but  M'Cullough 

he  shied, 
And  we  wasted  a  year  in  talking  before  we  moved  to  the  Clyde. 
And  the  Lines  were  all  beginning,  and  we  ail  of  us  started 

fair, 
Building   our   engines   like   houses   and   staying   the  boilers 

square. 
But  M'Cullough  'e  wanted  cabins  with  marble  and  maple  and 

all, 
And  Brussels  an'  Utrecht  velvet,  and  baths  and  a  Social  Hall, 
And  pipes  for  closets  all  over,  and  cutting  the  frames  too  light, 
But  M'Cullough  he  died  in  the  Sixties,  and Well,  I  'm 

dying  to-night.   ... 
I  knew  —  /   knew   what  was   coming,  when   we  bid  on   the 

By  fleet's  keel  — 
They  piddled  and  piffled  with  iron.     I  'd  given  my  orders  for 

steel ! 
Steel  and  the  first  expansions.     It  paid,  I  tell  you,  it  paid. 
When  we  came  with  our  nine-knot  freighters  and  collared  the 

long-run  trade ! 
And  they  asked  me  how  I  did  it,  and  I  gave  'em  the  Scripture 

text, 
"  You  keep  your  light  so  shining  a  little  in  front  o'  the  next !  " 
They  copied  all  they  could  follow,  but  they  could  n't  copy  my 

mind. 
And  I  left  'em  sweating  and  stealing  a  year  and  a  half  behind. 
Then  came  the  armour-contracts,  but  that  was  M'Cullough's 

side; 
He  was  always  best  in  the  Foundry,  but  better,  perhaps,  he 

died. 
I  went  through  his  private  papers ;    the  notes  was  plainer 

than  print ; 
And  I  'm  no  fool  to  finish  If  a  man  '11  give  me  a  hint. 
(I  remember  his  widow  was  angry.)     So  I  saw  what  the  draw- 
ings meant, 


48  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

And  I  started  the  six-inch  rollers,  and  it  paid  me  sLxty  per 

cent  — 
Sixty  per  cent  with  failures,  and  more  than  twice  we  could  do, 
And  a  quarter-million  to  credit,  and  I  saved  it  all  for  you ! 
I  thought  —  it  does  n't  matter  —  you  seemed  to  favour  your 

ma, 
But  you  're  nearer  forty  than  thirty,  and  I  know  the  kind 

you  are. 
Harrer  an'  Trinity  College !    I  ought  to  ha'  sent  you  to  sea  — 
But  I  stood  you  an  education,  an'  what  have  you  done  for  me? 
The  things  I  knew  was  proper  you  would  n't  thank  me  to  give. 
And  the  things  I  knew  was  rotten  you  said  was  the  way  to 

live. 
For  you   muddled  with  books   and  pictures,   an'   china   an' 

etchin's  an'  fans. 
And  your  rooms  at  college  was  beastly  —  more  like  a  whore's 

than  a  man's  — 
Till  you  married  that  thin-flanked  woman,  as  white  and  as 

stale  as  a  bone. 
An'  she  gave  you  your  social  nonsense ;   but  where  's  that  kid 

o'  your  own.? 
I  've  seen  your  carriages  blocking  the  half  o'  the  Cromwell 

Road, 
But  never  the  doctor^s  brougham  to  help  the  missus  unload. 
I  (So  there  is  n't  even  a  grandchild,  an'  the  Gloster  family  's 

done. ) 
Not  like  your  mother,  she  is  n't.    She  carried  her  freight  each 

run. 
But  they  died,  the  pore  little  beggars !     At  sea  she  had  'em 

—  they  died. 
Only  you,  an'  you  stood  it.    You  have  n't  stood  much  beside. 
Weak,  a  liar,  and  idle,  and  mean  as  a  collier's  whelp 
Nosing  for  scraps  in  the  galley.     No  help  —  my  son  was  no 

help! 
So  he  gets  three  'undred  thousand,  in  trust  and  the  interest 

paid. 
I  would  n't  give  it  you,  Dickie  —  you  see,  I  made  it  in  trade. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  49 

You  're  saved  from  soiling  your  fingers,  and  if  you  have  no 

cliild, 
It  all  comes  back  to  the  business.     Gad,  won't  your  wife  be 

wild! 
'Calls  and  calls  in  her  carriage,  her  'andkerchief  up  to  'er  eye: 
"  Daddy !    dear  daddy  's  dyin' !  "  and  doing  her  best  to  cry. 
Grateful?     Oh,  yes,  I  'm  grateful,  but  keep  her  away  from 

here. 
Your  mother  'ud  never  ha'  stood  'er,  and,  anyhow,  women  are 

queer.   .   .   . 
There  's  women  will  say  I  've  married  a  second  time.     Not 

quite ! 
But  give  pore  Aggie  a  hundred,  and  tell  her  your  lawyers  '11 

fight. 
She  was  the  best  o'  the  boiling  —  you  '11  meet  her  before  it 

ends; 
I  'm  in  for  a  row  with  the  mother  —  I  '11  leave  you  settle  my 

friends : 
For  a  man  he  must  go  with  a  woman,  which  women  don't 

understand  — 
Or  the  sort  that  say  they  can  see  it  they  are  n't  the  marrying 

brand. 
But  I  wanted  to  speak  o'  your  mother  that 's  Lady  Gloster 

still  — 
I  'm  going  to  up  and  see  her,  without  its  hurting  the  will. 
Here !     Take  your  hand  off  the  bell-pull.     Five  thousand  's 

waiting  for  you. 
If  you  '11  only  listen  a  minute,  and  do  as  I  bid  you  do. 
They  '11  try  to  prove  me  crazy,  and,  if  you  bungle,  they  can ; 
And  I  've  only  you  to  trust  to !     (O  God,  why  ain't  he  a  man.?) 
There  's  some  waste  money  on  marbles,  the  same  as  M'CuUough 

tried  — 
Marbles  and  mausoleums  —  but  I  call  that  sinful  pride. 
There  's   some   ship   bodies   for  burial  —  we  've  carried   'em, 

soldered  and  packed ; 
Down  in  their  wills  they  wrote  it,  and  nobody  called  them 

cracked. 

4 


50  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

But  me  —  I  've  too  much  money,  and  people  might  .   .  .  All 

my  fault: 
It  come  o'  hoping  for  grandsons   and  buying  tliat  Wokin' 

vault.   .   .   . 
I  'm  sick  o'  the  'ole  dam'  business.     I  'm  going  back  where  I 

came. 
Dick,  you  're  the  son  o'  my  body,  and  you  '11  take  charge  o' 

the  same! 
I  want  to  lie  by  your  mother,  ten  thousand  mile  away, 
And  they  '11  want  to  send  me  to  Woking ;    and  that 's  where 

you  '11  earn  your  pay. 
I  've  thought  it  out  on  the  quiet,  the  same  as  it  ought  to  be 

done  — 
Quiet,  and  decent,  and  proper  —  an'  here  's  your  orders,  my 

son. 
You  know  the  Line.''     You  don't,  though.     You  write  to  the 

Board,  and  tell 
Your  father's  death  has  upset  you  an'  you  're  goln'  to  cruise 

for  a  spell. 
An'  you  'd  like  the  Mary  Gloster  —  I  've  held  her  ready  for 

this  — 
They  '11  put  her  in  working  order  and  you  '11  take  her  out  as 

she  is. 
Yes,  it  was   money  idle  when   I  patched  her   and  put  her 

aside 
(Thank  God,  I  can  pay  for  my  fancies!)  — the  boat  where 

your  mother  died, 
By  the  Little  Paternosters,  as  you  come  to  the  Union  Bank, 
We  dropped  her  —  I  think  I  told  you  —  and  I  pricked  it  off 

where  she  sank  — 
['Tiny  she  looked  on  the  grating  —  that  oily,  treacly  sea  — ] 
'Hundred    and    Eighteen    East,    remember,    and    South   just 

Three. 
Easy  bearings  to  carry  —  Three  South  —  Three  to  the  dot ; 
But  I  gave  M' Andrew  a  copy  in  case  of  dying  —  or  not. 
And  so  you  '11  write  to  M' Andrew,  he  's  Chief  of  the  Maori 

Line ; 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  51 

They  '11  give  him  leave,  if  you  ask  'era  and  say  it 's  business  o' 
mine. 

I  built  three  boats  for  the  Maoris,  an'  very  well  pleased  they 
were. 

An'  I  've  known  Mac  since  the  Fifties,  and  Mac  knew  me  — 

and  her. 
After  the  first  stroke  warned  me  I  sent  him  the  money  to  keep 
Agamst  the  time  you  'd  claim  it,  committin'  your  dad  to  the 

deep; 

For  you  are  the  son  o'  my  body,  and  Mac  was  my  oldest 

friend, 
I  've  never  asked  'im  to  dinner,  but  he  '11  see  it  out  to  the  end. 
Stiff-necked  Glasgow  beggar,  I  've  heard  he  's  prayed  for  mv 

soul. 

But  he  could  n't  lie  if  you  paid  him,  and  he  'd  starve  before  he 
stole ! 

He  '11  take  the  Mart^  in  ballast  —  you  '11  find  her  a  Hvely 

ship; 

And  you  '11  take  Sir  Anthony  Gloster,  that  goes  on  'is  wedding- 
Lashed  in  our  old  deck-cabin  with  all  three  port-holes  wide. 
The  kick  o'  the  screw  beneath  him  and  the  round  blue  seas  out- 
side! 

Sir  Anthony  Gloster's  carriage  —  our  'ouse-flag  flyin'  free 

Ten  thousand  men  on  the  pay-rool  and  forty  freighters  at 
sea! 

He  made  himself  and  a  million,  but  this  world  is  a  fleetin' 
show, 

And  he  '11  go  to  the  wife  of  'is  bosom  the  same  as  he  ought  to 
go  — 

By  the  heel  of  the  Paternosters  —  there  is  n't  a  chance  to 

mistake  — 
And  Mac  '11  pay  you  the  money  as  soon  as  the  bubbles  break ! 
Five  thousand  for  six  weeks'  cruising,  the  stanchest  freighter 

afloat, 

And  Mac  he  '11  give  you  your  bonus  the  minute  I  'm  out  o'  the 
boat ! 


5£  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

He  '11  take  you  round  to  Macassar,  and  you  '11  come  back 

alone ; 
He  knows  what  I  want  o'  the  Mary.  .  .  .  I  '11  do  what  I  please 

with  my  own. 
Your  mother  'ud  call  it  wasteful,  but  I  've  seven-and-thirty 

more; 
I  '11  come  in  my  private   carriage   and  bid   it  wait   at   the 

door.  .  .  . 
For  my  son  'e  was  never  a  credit :  'e  muddled  with  books  and 

art. 
And  'e  lived  on  Sir  Anthony's  money  and  'e  broke  Sir  An- 
thony's heart. 
There   is  n't   even   a   grandchild,   and   the   Gloster    family 's 

done  — 
The  only  one  you  left  me,  O  mother,  the  only  one! 
Harrer  and  Trinity  College  —  me  slavin'  early  an'  late  — 
An'  he  thinks   I  'm  dying  crazy,   and  you  're  in  Macassar 

Strait ! 
Flesh  o'  my  flesh,  my  dearie,  for  ever  an'  ever  amen, 
That  first  stroke  come  for  a  warning ;  I  ought  to  ha'  gone  to 

you  then. 
But  —  cheap  repairs  for  a  cheap  'un  —  the  doctors  said  I  'd 

do: 
Mary,  why  didn't  you  warn  me?     I  've  alius  heeded  to  you, 
Excep'  —  I  know  —  about  women ;  but  you  are  a  spirit  now ; 
An',  wife,  they  was  only  women,  and  I  was  a  man.     That 's 

how. 
An'  a  man  'e  must  go  with  a  woman,  as  you  could  not  under- 
stand ; 
But  I  never  talked  'em  secrets.     I  paid  'em  out  o'  hand. 
Thank  Gawd,  I  can  pay  for  my  fancies !     Now  what 's  five 

thousand  to  me. 
For  a  berth  off  the  Paternosters  in  the  haven  where  I  would 

be? 
/  believe  in  the  Resurrection,  if  I  read  my  Bible  plain, 
But  I  wouldn't  trust  'em  at  Wokin'  ;    we  're  safer  at  sea 

again. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  53 

For  the  heart  it  shall  go  with  the  treasure  —  go  down  to  the 

sea  in  ships. 
I  'm  sick  of  the  hired  women  —  I  '11  kiss  my  girl  on  her  lips ! 
I  '11  be  content  with  my  fountain,  I  '11  drink  from  my  own  well, 
And  the  wife  of  my  youth  shall  charm  me  —  an'  the  rest  can 

go  to  Hell! 
(Dickie,  he  will,  that 's  certain.)     I  '11  lie  in  our  standin'-bed, 
An'  Mac  '11  take  her  in  ballast  —  an'  she  trims  best  by  the 

head.   .   .   . 
Down  by  the  head  an'  sinkin',  her  fires  are  drawn  and  cold. 
And  the  water  's  splashin'  hollow  on  the  skin  of  the  empty 

hold  — 
Churning  an'  choking  and  chuckling,  quiet  and  scummy  and 

dark  — 
Full  to  her  lower  hatches  and  risin'  steady.     Hark! 
That  was  the  after-bulkhead.   .   .  .  She  's  flooded  from  stem 

to  stern.  .  .  . 
Never  seen  death  yet,  Dickie.^  .  .  .  Well,  now  is  your  time  to 

learn! 


THE   BALLAD   OF   -THE   BOLIVAR" 

1890 

t^EVEN  men  from  all  the  world  back  to  Docks  again, 
Rolling  down  the  Ratcliffe  Road  drunk  and  raising  Cain: 
Give  the  girls  another  drink  'fore  we  sign  away  — 
We  that  took  the  "  Bolivar  "  out  across  the  Bay! 

We  put  out  from  Sunderland  loaded  down  with  rails ; 

We  put  back  to  Sunderland  'cause  our  cargo  shifted ; 
We  put  out  from  Sunderland  —  met  the  winter  gales  — 

Seven  days  and  seven  nights  to  the  Start  we  drifted. 

Racketing  her  rivets  loose,  smoke-stack  white  as  snow, 
All  the  coals  adrift  adeck,  half  the  rails  below. 
Leaking  like  a  lobster-pot,  steering  like  a  dray  — 
Out  we  took  the  Bolivar,  out  across  the  Bay ! 


54  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

One  by  one  the  Lights  came  up,  winked  and  let  us  by ; 

Mile  by  mile  we  waddled  on,  coal  and  fo'c'sle  short ; 
Met  a  blow  that  laid  us  down,  heard  a  bulkhead  fly ; 

Left  The  Wolf  behind  us  with  a  two-foot  list  to  port. 

Traihng  like  a  wounded  duck,  working  out  her  soul ; 
Clanging  like  a  smithy-shop  after  every  roll ; 
Just  a  funnel  and  a  mast  lurching  through  the  spray  — 
So  we  threshed  the  Bolivar  out  across  the  Bay ! 

Felt  her  hog  and  felt  her  sag,  betted  when  she  'd  break ; 

Wondered  every  time  she  raced  if  she  'd  stand  the  shock ; 
Heard  the  seas  like  drunken  men  pounding  at  her  strake; 

Hoped  the  Lord  'ud  keep  his  thumb  on  the  plummer-block. 

Banged  against  the  iron  decks,  bilges  choked  with  coal ; 
Flayed  and  frozen  foot  and  hand,  sick  of  heart  and  soul ; 
Last  we  prayed  she  'd  buck  herself  into  Judgment  Day  — 
Hi !   we  cursed  the  Bolivar  knocking  round  the  Bay ! 

O  her  nose  flung  up  to  sky,  groaning  to  be  still  — 

Up  and  down  and  back  we  went,  never  time  for  breath; 

Then  the  money  paid  at  Lloj'^d's  caught  her  by  the  heel, 

And  the  stars  ran  round  and  round  dancin'  at  our  death ! 

Aching  for  an  hour's  sleep,  dozing  off  between ; 
Heard  the  rotten  rivets  draw  when  she  took  it  green ; 
Watched  the  compass  chase  its  tail  like  a  cat  at  play  — 
That  was  on  the  Bolivar,  south  across  the  Bay. 

Once  we  saw  between  the  squalls,  lyin'  head  to  swell  — 
Mad  with  work  and  weariness,  wishin'  they  was  we  — 

Some  damned  Liner's  lights  go  by  like  a  grand  hotel; 
Cheered  her  from  the  Bolivar  swampin'  in  the  sea. 

Then  a  grey  back  cleared  us  out,  then  the  skipper  laughed ; 
"  Boys,  the  wheel  has  gone  to  Hell  —  rig  the  winches  aft ! 
"  Yoke  the  kicking  rudder-head  —  get  her  under  way !  " 
So  we  steered  her,  pully-haul,  out  across  the  Bay ! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  55 

Just  a  pack  o'  rotten  plates  puttied  up  witli  tar, 
In  we  came,  an'  time  enough,  'cross  Bilbao  Bar. 
Overloaded,  undermanned,  meant  to  founder,  we 
Euchred  God  Almighty's  storm,  bluffed  the  Eternal  Sea ! 

/  Seven  men  from  all  the  zcorld  back  to  town  again, 
j  Rollin*  down  the  Rat  cliff  e  Road  drunk  a/nd  raising  Cain: 
i    Seven  men  from  out  of  Hell.    Ain't  the  owners  gay, 
•    'Cause  we  took  the  "  Bolivar  "  safe  across  the  Bay? 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  -  CLAMPHERDOWN " 

1892 

IT  was  our  war-ship  Clampherdown 

Would  sweep  the  Channel  clean, 
Wherefore  she  kept  her  hatches  close 
When  the  merr}^  Channel  chops  arose. 
To  save  the  bleached  Marine. 

She  had  one  bow-gun  of  a  hundred  ton. 

And  a  great  stern-gun  beside ; 
They  dipped  their  noses  deep  in  the  sea, 
They  racked  their  stays  and  stanchions  free 

In  the  wash  of  the  wind-whipped  tide. 

It  was  our  war-ship  Clampherdown 

Fell  in  with  a  cruiser  light 
That  carried  the  dainty  Hotchkiss  gun 
And  a  pair  of  heels  wherewith  to  run 

From  the  grip  of  a  close-fought  fight. 

She  opened  fire  at  seven  miles  — 

As  ye  shoot  at  a  bobbing  cork  — 
And  once  she  fired  and  twice  she  fired, 
Till  the  bow-gun  drooped  like  a  lily  tired 

That  lolls  upon  the  stalk. 


56  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

"Captain,  the  bow-gun  melts  apace, 

"The  deck-beams  break  below, 
"  'Twere  well  to  rest  for  an  hour  or  twain, 
"And  botch  the  shattered  plates  again.'* 
And  he  answered,  "Make  it  so." 

She  opened  fire  within  the  mile  — 

As  you  shoot  at  the  flying  duck  — 
And  the  great  stern-gun  shot  fair  and  true. 
With  the  heave  of  the  ship,  to  the  stainless  blue, 
And  the  great  stern-turret  stuck. 

"Captain,  the  turret  fills  with  steam, 

"The  feed-pipes  burst  below  — 
"You  can  hear  the  hiss  of  the  helpless  ram, 
"You  can  hear  the  twisted  runners  jam." 
And  he  answered,  "Turn  and  go  !" 


It  was  our  war-ship  Clampherdown, 

And  grimly  did  she  roll ; 
Swung  round  to  take  the  cruiser's  fire 
As  the  White  Whale  faces  the  Thresher's  ire 

When  they  war  by  the  frozen  Pole. 

"Captain,  the  shells  are  falling  fast, 

"And  faster  still  fall  we; 
"And  it  is  not  meet  for  English  stock 
"To  bide  in  the  heart  of  an  eight-day  clock 

"The  death  they  cannot  see." 

"Lie  down,  lie  down,  my  bold  A.B., 

"We  drift  upon  her  beam; 
"We  dare  not  ram,  for  she  can  run : 
"And  dare  ye  fire  another  gun, 

"And  die  in  the  peeling  steam?" 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  57 

It  was  our  war-ship  Clamphcrdown 

That  carried  an  armour-belt ; 
But  fifty  feet  at  stern  and  bow 
Lay  bare  as  the  paunch  of  the  purser's  sow. 

To  the  hail  of  the  Nordenfeldt. 


"Captain,  they  lack  us  through  and  through; 

"The  chilled  steel  bolts  are  swift ! 
"We  have  emptied  the  bunkers  in  open  sea, 
"Their  shrapnel  bursts  where  our  coal  should  be." 

And  he  answered,  "Let  her  drift." 

It  was  our  war-ship  Clampherdown, 

Swung  round  upon  the  tide. 
Her  two  dumb  guns  glared  south  and  north, 
And  the  blood  and  the  bubbling  steam  ran  forth, 

And  she  ground  the  cruiser's  side. 

"Captain,  they  cry,  the  fight  is  done, 

"They  bid  you  send  your  sword." 
And  he  answ^ered,  "Grapple  her  stern  and  bow. 
"They  have  asked  for  the  steel.     They  shall  have  it  now; 

"Out  cutlasses  and  board  !" 

It  was  our  war-ship  Clampherdowriy 

Spewed  up  four  hundred  men ; 
And  the  scalded  stokers  yelped  delight, 
As  they  rolled  in  the  waist  and  heard  the  fight. 

Stamp  o'er  their  steel- walled  pen. 

They  cleared  the  cruiser  end  to  end 

From  conning-tower  to  hold. 
They  fought  as  they  fought  in  Nelson's  fleet ; 
They  w^ere  stripped  to  the  waist,  they  were  bare  to  the  feet, 

As  it  was  in  the  days  of  old. 


5S  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

It  was  the  sinking  Clampherdown 
Heaved  up  her  battered  side  — 
And  carried  a  miUion  pounds  in  steel, 
To  the  cod  and  the  corpse-fed  conger-eel. 
And  the  scour  of  the  Channel  tide. 

It  was  the  crew  of  the  Clampherdown 

Stood  out  to  sweep  the  sea, 
On  a  cruiser  won  from  an  ancient  foe. 
As  it  was  in  the  days  of  long  ago, 

And  as  it  still  shall  be ! 


CRUISERS 

1899 


/\S  our  mother  the  Frigate,  bepainted  and  iSne, 
Made  play  for  her  bully  the  Ship  of  the  Line ; 
So  we,  her  bold  daughters  by  iron  and  fire, 
Accost  and  decoy  to  our  masters'  desire. 

Now,  pray  you,  consider  what  toils  we  endure, 
Night- walking  wet  sea-lanes,  a  guard  and  a  lure ; 
Since  half  of  our  trade  is  that  same  pretty  sort 
As  mettlesome  wenches  do  practise  in  port. 

For  this  is  our  office :  to  spy  and  make  room, 
As  hiding  yet  guiding  the  foe  to  their  doom. 
Surrounding,  confounding,  we  bait  and  betray 
And  tempt  them  to  battle  the  seas'  width  away. 

The  pot-bellied  merchant  foreboding  no  wrong 
"With  headlight  and  sidelight  he  lieth  along, 
Till,  lightless  and  lightfoot  and  lurking,  leap  we 
To  force  him  discover  his  business  by  sea. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  59 

And  when  we  have  wakened  the  lust  of  a  foe, 
To  draw  him  by  flight  toward  our  buUies  we  go, 
Till,  'ware  of  strange  smoke  stealing  nearer,  he  flies 
Or  our  bullies  close  in  for  to  make  him  good  prize. 

So,  when  we  have  spied  on  the  path  of  their  host. 
One  flieth  to  carry  that  word  to  the  coast ; 
And,  lest  by  false  doubling  they  turn  and  go  free. 
One  lieth  behind  them  to  follow^  and  see. 

Anon  we  return,  being  gathered  again. 

Across  the  sad  valleys  all  drabbled  with  rain  — 

Across  the  grey  ridges  all  crisped  and  curled  — 

To  join  the  long  dance  round  the  curve  of  the  world. 

The  bitter  salt  spindrift,  the  sun-glare  likewise, 
The  moon-track  a-tremble,  bewilders  our  eyes, 
Where,  linking  and  lifting,  our  sisters  we  hail 
'Twixt  wrench  of  cross-surges  or  plunge  of  head-gale. 

As  maidens  awaiting  the  bride  to  come  forth 
Make  play  with  light  jestings  and  wit  of  no  worth, 
So,  widdershins  circling  the  bride-bed  of  death. 
Each  fleereth  her  neighbour  and  signeth  and  saith :  — 

"What  see  ye  }     Their  signals,  or  levin  afar  ? 
"What  hear  ye  }     God's  thunder,  or  guns  of  our  war  ? 
"What  mark  ye  ?    Their  smoke,  or  the  cloud-rack  outblown  ? 
"  WTiat  chase  ye  }    Their  lights,  or  the  Daystar  low  down  ?  '* 

So,  times  past  all  number  deceived  by  false  shows, 
Deceiving  we  cumber  the  road  of  our  foes. 
For  this  is  our  virtue :  to  track  and  betray ; 
Preparing  great  battles  a  sea's  width  away. 

Now  peace  is  at  end  and  our  peoples  take  hearty 

For  the  laics  are  clean  gone  that  restrained  our  art; 

Up  and  down  the  near  headlands  and  against  the  jar  wind 

We  are  loosed  (O  he  swijt!)  to  the  work  of  our  kind! 


60  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

THE  DESTROYERS 

1898 

J.  HE  strength  of  twice  three  thousand  horse 

That  seeks  the  single  goal; 
The  line  that  holds  the  rending  course  y 

The  hate  that  swings  the  whole: 
The  stripped  hulls,  slinking  through  the  gloom. 

At  gaze  and  gone  again  — 
The  Brides  of  Death  that  wait  the  groom  — 

The  Choosers  of  the  Slain! 

Offshore  where  sea  and  skyline  blend 

In  rain,  the  daylight  dies; 
The  sullen,  shouldering  swells  attend 

Night  and  our  sacrifice. 
Adown  the  stricken  capes  no  flare  — 

No  mark  on  spit  or  bar,  — 
Girdled  and  desperate  we  dare 

The  blindfold  game  of  war. 

Nearer  the  up-flung  beams  that  spell 

The  council  of  our  foes ; 
Clearer  the  barking  guns  that  tell 

Their  scattered  flank  to  close. 
Sheer  to  the  trap  they  crowd  their  way 

From  ports  for  this  unbarred. 
Quiet,  and  count  our  laden  prey, 

The  convoy  and  her  guard  ! 

On  shoal  with  scarce  a  foot  below. 

Where  rock  and  islet  throng, 
Hidden  and  hushed  we  watch  them  throw 

Their  anxious  lights  along. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  61 

Not  here,  not  here  your  danger  lies  — 

(Stare  hard,  O  hooded  eyne  !) 
Save  where  the  dazed  rock-pigeons  rise 

The  Ht  cHffs  give  no  sign. 

Therefore  —  to  break  the  rest  ye  seek. 

The  Narrow  Seas  to  clear  — 
Hark  to  the  siren's  whimpering  shriek  — 

The  driven  death  is  here  ! 
Look  to  your  van  a  league  away,  — 

What  midnight  terror  stays 
The  bulk  that  checks  against  the  spray 

Her  crackling  tops  ablaze  ? 

Hit,  and  hard  hit !     The  blow  went  home. 

The  muffled,  knocking  stroke  — 
The  steam  that  overruns  the  foam  — 

The  foam  that  thins  to  smoke  — 
The  smoke  that  clokes  the  deep  aboil  — 

The  deep  that  chokes  her  throes 
Till,  streaked  with  ash  and  sleeked  with  oil. 

The  lukewarm  whirlpools  close  ! 

A  shadow  down  the  sickened  wave 

Long  since  her  slayer  fled : 
But  hear  their  chartering  quick-fires  rave 

Astern,  abeam,  ahead ! 
Panic  that  shells  the  drifting  spar  — 

Loud  waste  w^ith  none  to  check  — 
Mad  fear  that  rakes  a  scornful  star 

Or  sweeps  a  consort's  deck  ! 

Now,  while  their  silly  smoke  hangs  thick, 

Now  ere  their  wits  they  find. 
Lay  in  and  lance  them  to  the  quick  — 

Our  gallied  whales  are  blind  ! 


6^  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Good  luck  to  those  that  see  the  end, 
Good-bye  to  those  that  drown  — 

For  each  his  chance  as  chance  shall  send 
And  God  for  all !     Shut  down! 

The  strength  of  twice  three  thousand  horse 

That  serve  the  one  command; 
The  hand  that  heaves  the  headlong  force. 

The  hate  that  hacks  the  hand: 
The  doom-holt  in  the  darkness  freed. 

The  mine  that  splits  the  main; 
The  white-hot  wake,  the  'wildering  speed  - 

The  Choosers  of  the  Slain! 


WHITE  HORSES 

1897 

rrHERE  run  your  colts  at  pasture? 

Where  hide  your  mares  to  breed? 
'Mid  bergs  about  the  Ice-cap 

Or  wove  Sargasso  weed  ; 
By  chartless  reef  and  channel, 

Or  crafty  coastwise  bars. 
But  most  the  ocean-meadows 

All  purple  to  the  stars  ! 

Who  holds  the  rein  upon  you? 

The  latest  gale  let  free. 
What  meat  is  in  your  mangers? 

The  glut  of  all  the  sea. 
'Twixt  tide  and  tide's  returning 

Great  store  of  newly  dead,  — 
The  bones  of  those  that  faced  us. 

And  the  hearts  of  those  that  fled. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  68 

Afar,  off-shore  and  single. 

Some  stallion,  rearing  swift. 
Neighs  hungry  for  new  fodder. 

And  calls  us  to  the  drift. 
Then  down  the  cloven  ridges  — • 

A  million  hooves  unshod  — 
Break  forth  the  mad  White  Horses 

To  seek  their  meat  from  God  ! 


Girth-deep  in  hissing  water 

Our  furious  vanguard  strains  — 
Through  mist  of  mighty  tramplings 

Roll  up  the  fore-blown  manes  — 
A  hundred  leagues  to  leeward. 

Ere  yet  the  deep  is  stirred. 
The  groaning  rollers  carry 

The  coming  of  the  herd  ! 


Whose  hand  may  grip  your  nostrils  — 

Your  forelock  who  may  hold? 
E'en  they  that  use  the  broads  with  us 

The  riders  bred  and  bold. 
That  spy  upon  our  matings, 

That  rope  us  where  we  run  — 
They  know  the  strong  White  Horses 

From  father  unto  son. 


We  breathe  about  their  cradles. 

We  race  their  babes  ashore, 
We  snuff  against  their  thresholds. 

We  nuzzle  at  their  door; 
By  day  w^ith  stamping  squadrons. 

By  night  in  whinnying  droves, 
Creep  up  the  wise  White  Horses, 

To  call  them  from  their  loves. 


64.  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

And  come  they  for  your  calling f 

No  wit  of  man  may  save. 
They  hear  the  loosed  White  Horses 

Above  their  father's  grave ; 
And,  kin  of  those  we  crippled, 

And,  sons  of  those  we  slew, 
Spur  down  the  wild  white  riders 

To  school  the  herds  anew. 

What  service  have  ye  paid  therriy 

Oh  jealous  steeds  and  strong? 
Save  we  that  throw  their  weaklings, 

Is  none  dare  work  them  wrong; 
While  thick  around  the  homestead 

Our  snow-backed  leaders  graze  — 
A  guard  behind  their  plunder. 

And  a  veil  before  their  ways. 

With  march  and  countermarchings  — 

With  weight  of  wheeling  hosts  — 
Stray  mob  or  bands  embattled  — 

We  ring  the  chosen  coasts : 
And,  careless  of  our  clamour 

That  bids  the  stranger  fly, 
At  peace  within  our  pickets 

The  wild  white  riders  lie. 


Trust  ye  the  curdled  hollows  — 

Trust  ye  the  neighing  wind  — 
Trust  ye  the  moaning  groundswell  — 

Our  herds  are  close  behind  ! 
To  bray  your  foeman's  armies  — 

To  chill  and  snap  his  sword  — 
Trust  ye  the  wild  White  Horses, 

The  Horses  of  the  Lord  ! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  65 

THE   DERELICT 

1894 

"And  reports  the  derelict  '  Mary  Pollock  '  still  at  sea  " 

Shippinq  News. 

J  WAS  the  staunchest  of  our  fleet 

Till  the  sea  rose  beneath  our  feet 
Unheralded,  in  hatred  past  all  measure. 

Into  his  pits  he  stamped  my  creWy 

Buffetedy  blinded,  bound  and  threw. 
Bidding  me  eyeless  wait  upon  his  pleasure. 

Man  made  me,  and  my  will 

Is  to  my  maker  still, 
Whom  now  the  currents  con,  the  rollers  steer  -^ 

Lifting  forlorn  to  spy 

Trailed  smoke  along  the  sky, 
Falling  afraid  lest  any  keel  come  near ! 


Wrenched  as  the  lips  of  thirst, 

Wried,  dried,  and  split  and  burst. 
Bone-bleached  my  decks,  wind-scoured  to  the  graining ; 

And  jarred  at  every  roll 

The  gear  that  was  my  soul 
Answers  the  anguish  of  my  beams'  complaining. 

For  life  that  crammed  me  full. 

Gangs  of  the  prying  gull 
That  shriek  and  scrabble  on  the  riven  hatches ! 

For  roar  that  dumbed  the  gale, 

My  hawse-pipes'  guttering  wail, 
Sobbing  my  heart  out  through  the  uncounted  watches  ! 


66  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Blind  in  the  hot  blue  ring 

Through  all  my  points  I  swing  — 
Swing  and  return  to  shift  the  sun  anew. 

Blind  in  my  well-known  sky 

I  hear  the  stars  go  by. 
Mocking  the  prow  that  cannot  hold  one  true  ! 


White  on  my  wasted  path 

Wave  after  wave  in  wrath 
Frets  'gainst  his  fellow,  warring  where  to  send  me. 

Flung  forward,  heaved  aside, 

Witless  and  dazed  I  bide 
The  mercy  of  the  comber  that  shall  end  me. 


North  where  the  bergs  careen, 

The  spray  of  seas  unseen 
Smokes  round  my  head  and  freezes  in  the  falling ; 

South  where  the  corals  breed, 

The  footless,  floating  weed 
Folds  me  and  fouls  me,  strake  on  strake  upcrawling. 


I  that  was  clean  to  run 

My  race  against  the  sun  — 
Strength  on  the  deep  —  am  bawd  to  all  disaster ; 

Whipped  forth  by  night  to  meet 

My  sister's  careless  feet. 
And  with  a  kiss  betray  her  to  my  master ! 


Man  made  me,  and  my  will 

Is  to  my  maker  still  — 
To  him  and  his,  our  peoples  at  their  pier : 

Lifting  in  hope  to  spy 

Trailed  smoke  along  the  sky. 
Falling  afraid  lest  any  keel  come  near ! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  67 

THE  MERCHANTMEN 

1893 


K 


IXG   SOLOMON  drew  merchantmen, 

Because  of  his  desire 
For  peacocks,  apes,  and  ivory, 

From  Tarshish  unto  Tyre: 
With  cedars  out  of  Lebanon 

Which  Hiram  rafted  do^n. 
But  we  be  only  sailormen 

That  use  in  London  town. 

Coastwise  —  cross-seas  —  round  the  world  and  bach  again  — 
Where  the  flaw  shall  head  us  or  the  full  Trade  suits  — 

Plain-sail  —  storm-sail  —  lay  your  board  and  tack  again  — 
And  that  's  the  way  we  'II  pay  Paddy  Doyle  for  his  boots! 

We  bring  no  store  of  ingots. 

Of  spice  or  precious  stones. 
But  that  we  have  we  gathered 

With  sweat  and  aching  bones : 
In  flame  beneath  the  tropics. 

In  frost  upon  the  floe. 
And  jeopardy  of  every  wind 

That  does  between  them  go. 

And  some  we  got  by  purchase, 

And  some  we  had  by  trade. 
And  some  we  found  by  courtesy 

Of  pike  and  carronade  — 
At  midnight,  'mid-sea  meetings, 

For  charity  to  keep. 
And  ho^ht  the  rolhno:  homeward-bound 

That  rode  a  foot  too  deep ! 


68  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

By  sport  of  bitter  weather 

We  're  walty,  strained,  and  scarred 
From  the  kentledge  on  the  kelson 

To  the  slings  upon  the  yard. 
Six  oceans  had  their  will  of  us 

To  carry  all  away  — 
Our  galley  's  in  the  Baltic, 

And  our  boom  's  in  Mossel  Bay ! 

We  've  floundered  off  the  Texel, 

Awash  with   sodden   deals, 
We  've  slipped  from  Valparaiso 

With  the  Norther  at  our  heels: 
We  've  ratched  beyond  the  Crossets 

That  tusk  the  Southern  Pole, 
And  dipped  our  gunnels  under 

To  the  dread  Agulhas  roll. 

Beyond  all  outer  charting 

We  sailed  where  none  have  sailed, 
And  saw  the  land-lights  burning 

On  islands  none  have  hailed; 
Our  hair  stood  up  for  wonder. 

But,  when  the  night  was  done. 
There  danced  the  deep  to  windward 

Blue-empty  'neath  the  sun! 

Strange  consorts  rode  beside  us 

And  brought  us  evil  luck; 
The  witch-fire  climbed  our  channels, 

And  flared  on  vane  and  truck: 
Till,  through  the  red  tornado. 

That  lashed  us  nigh  to  bhnd. 
We  saw  The  Dutchman  plunging, 

Full  canvas,  head  to  wind! 

We've  heard  the  Midnight  Leadsman 
That  calls  the  black  deep  down  — 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  69 

Ay,  thrice  we  'vc  heard  The  Swimmer, 
The  Thing  that  may  not  drown. 

On  frozen  bunt  and  gasket 

The  sleet-cloud  drave  her  hosts. 

When,  manned  by  more  than  signed  with  us 
We  passed  the  Isle  of  Ghosts ! 

And  north,  amid  the  hummocks, 

A  biscuit-toss  below, 
We  met  the  silent  shallop 

That  frighted  whalers  know; 
For,  down  a  cruel  ice-lane. 

That  opened  as  he  sped. 
We  saw  dead  Hendrick  Hudson 

Steer,  North  by  West,  his  dead. 

So  dealt  God's  waters  with  us 

Beneath  the  roaring  skies. 
So  walked  His  signs  and  marvels 

All  naked  to  our  eyes: 
But  we  were  heading  homeward 

With  trade  to  lose  or  make  — 
Good  Lord,  they  slipped  behind  us 

In  the  tailing  of  our  wake ! 

Let  go,  let  go  the  anchors ; 

Now  shamed  at  heart  are  we 
To  bring  so  poor  a  cargo  home 

That  had  for  gift  the  sea ! 
Let  go  the  great  bow-anchors  — 

Ah,  fools  were  we  and  blind  — 
The  worst  we  stored  with  utter  toil. 

The  best  we  left  behind! 

Coastwise  —  cross-seas  —  round  the  world  and  hack  again. 
Whither  flaw  shall  fail  us  or  the  Trades  drive  down: 

Plain-sail  —  storm-sail  —  la?/  your  board  and  tack  again  — 
And  all  to  bring  a  cargo  up  to  London  Town! 


70  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

THE   SONG  OF  DIEGO  VALDEZ 

1902 

1  HE  God  of  Fair  Beginnings 

Hath  prospered  here  my  hand  — 
The  cargoes  of  my  lading, 

And  the  keels  of  my  command. 
For  out  of  many  ventures 

That  sailed  with  hope  as  high, 
My  own  have  made  the  better  trade, 

And  Admiral  am  I! 

To  me  my  King's  much  honour. 

To  me  my  people's  love  — 
To  me  the  pride  of  Princes 

And  power  all  pride  above; 
To  me  the  shouting  cities. 

To  me  the  mob's  refrain :  — 
"  Who  knows  not  noble  Valdez, 

"  Hath  never  heard  of  Spain." 

But  I  remember  comrades  — 

Old  playmates  on  new  seas  — 
Whenas  we  traded  orpiment 

Among  the  savages  — 
A  thousand  leagues  to  south'ard 

And  thirty  years  removed  — 
They  knew  not  noble  Valdez, 

But  me  they  knew  and  loved. 

Then  they  that  found  good  liquor, 

They  drank  it  not  alone, 
And  they  that  found  fair  plunder. 

They  told  us  every  one. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  71 

About  our  chosen  islands 

Or  secret  shoals  between, 
When,  weary  from  far  voyage. 

We  gathered  to  careen. 

There  burned  our  breaming-fagots 

All  pale  along  the  shore : 
There  rose  our  worn  pavilions  — 

A  sail  above  an  oar: 
As  flashed  each  yearning  anchor 

Through  mellow  seas  afire. 
So  swift  our  careless  captains 

Rowed  each  to  his  desire. 


Where  lay  our  loosened  harness.? 

Where  turned  our  naked  feet? 
Whose  tavern  'mid  the  palm-trees? 

What  quenchings  of  what  heat? 
Oh  fountain  in  the  desert! 

Oh  cistern  in  the  waste! 
Oh  bread  we  ate  in  secret ! 

Oh  cup  we  spilled  in  haste! 

The  youth  new-taught  of  longing. 

The  widow  curbed  and  wan  — 
The  goodwife  proud  at  season, 

And  the  maid  aware  of  man ; 
All  souls  unslaked,  consuming, 

Defrauded  in  delays. 
Desire  not  more  their  quittance 

Than  I  those  forfeit  days ! 

I  dreamed  to  wait  my  pleasure 
Unchanged  my  spring  would  bide 

Wherefore,  to  wait  my  pleasure, 
I  put  my  spring  aside 


72  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Till,  first  in  face  of  Fortune, 
And  last  in  mazed  disdain, 

I  made  Diego  Valdez 
High  Admiral  of  Spain. 

Then  walked  no  wind  'neath  Heaven 

Nor  surge  that  did  not  aid  — 
I  dared  extreme  occasion, 

Nor  ever  one  betrayed. 
They  wrought  a  deeper  treason  — 

(Led  seas  that  served  my  needs !) 
They  sold  Diego  Valdez 

To  bondage  of  great  deeds. 

The  tempest  flung  me  seaward. 

And  pinned  and  bade  me  hold 
The  course  I  might  not  alter  — 

And  men  esteemed  me  bold! 
The  calms  embayed  my  quarry, 

The  fog-wreath  sealed  his  eyes ; 
The  dawn-wind  brought  my  topsails 

And  men  esteemed  me  wise! 

Yet  'spite  my  tyrant  triumphs 

Bewildered,  dispossessed  — 
My  dream  held  I  before  me  — 

My  vision  of  my  rest ; 
But,  crowned  by  Fleet  and  People, 

And  bound  by  King  and  Pope  — 
Stands  here  Diego  Valdez 

To  rob  me  of  my  hope! 

No  prayer  of  mine  shall  move  him. 
No  word  of  his  set  free 

The  Lord  of  Sixty  Pennants 
And  the  Steward  of  the  Sea. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  73 

His  will  can  loose  ten  thousand 

To  seek  their  loves  again  — 
But  not  Diego  Valclez, 

High  Admiral  of  Spain. 

There  walks  no  wind  'neath  Heaven 

Nor  wave  that  shall  restore 
The  old  careening  riot 

And  the  clamorous,  crowded  shore  — 
The  fountain  in  the  desert, 

The  cistern  in  the  waste. 
The  bread  we  ate  in  secret, 

The  cup  we  spilled  in  haste. 

Now  call  I  to  my  Captains  — 

For  council  fly  the  sign, 
Now  leap  their  zealous  galleys, 

Twelve-oared,  across  the  brine. 
To  me  the  straiter  prison. 

To  me  the  heavier  chain  — 
To  me  Diego  Valdez, 

High  Admiral  of  Spain! 


THE  SECOND  VOYAGE 

1903 

W  E  'VE  sent  our  little  Cupids  all  ashore  — 

They  were  frightened,  they  were  tired,  they  were  cold; 
Our  sails  of  silk  and  purple  go  to  store. 

And  we  've  cut  away  our  mast  of  beaten  gold 

(Foul  weather!) 
Oh  't  is  hemp  and  singing  pine  for  to  stand  against  the  brine, 

But  Love  he  is  our  master  as  of  old  I 


74  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

The  sea  has  shorn  our  galleries  away, 

The  salt  has  soiled  our  gilding  past  remede; 

Our  paint  is  flaked  and  blistered  by  the  spray, 
Our  sides  are  half  a  fathom  furred  in  weed 

(Foul  weather!) 

And  the  doves  of  Venus  fled  and  the  petrels  came  instead. 
But  Love  he  was  our  master  at  our  need ! 


'Was  Youth  would  keep  no  vigil  at  the  bow, 

'W^as  Pleasure  at  the  helm  too  drunk  to  steer  — 
We  've  shipped  three  able  quartermasters  now. 
Men  call  them  Custom,  Reverence,  and  Fear 

(Foul  weather!) 
They  are  old  and  scarred  and  plain,  but  we  '11  run  no  risk 
again 
From  any  Port  o'  Paphos  mutineer! 


We  seek  no  more  the  tempest  for  delight. 

We  skirt  no  more  the  indraught  and  the  shoal  — 
We  ask  no  more  of  any  day  or  night 

Than  to  come  with  least  adventure  to  our  goal 

(Foul  weather!) 
What  we  find  we  needs  must  brook,  but  we  do  not  go  to 
look, 
Nor  tempt  the  Lord  our  God  that  saved  us  whole! 


Yet,  caring  so,  not  overmuch  we  care 

To  brace  and  trim  for  every  foolish  blast, 
If  the  squall  be  pleased  to  sweep  us  unaware, 
He  may  bellow  off  to  leeward  Hke  tlie  last 

(Foul  weather!) 
We  will  blame  it  on  the  deep  (for  the  watch  must  have  their 
sleep). 
And  Love  can  come  and  wake  us  when  't  is  past. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  75 

Oh  launch  them  down  with  music  from  the  beach, 

Oh  warp  them  out  with  garlands  from  the  quays  — 
Most  resolute  —  a  damsel  unto  each  — 
New  prows  that  seek  the  old  Hesperides ! 

(Foul  weather!) 
Though  we  know  the  voyage  is  vain,  yet  we  sec  our  path 
affain 
In  the  saffroned  bridesails  scentmg  all  the  seas! 

(Foul  weather!) 


THE   LINER  SHE'S  A  LADY 

1894 

1  HE  Liner  she  's  a  lady,  an'  she  never  looks  nor  'eeds  — 
The  Man-o'-War  's  'er  'usband,  an'  'e  gives  'er  all  she  needs ; 
But,  oh,  the  little  cargo-boats,  that  sail  the  wet  seas  roun'. 
They're  just  the  same  as  you  an'  me  a-plyin'  up  an'  doTsu! 

Plyirt'  up  an'  down,  Jenny,  'angin'  round  the  Yard, 
All  the  way  hy  Fratton  tram  down  to  Portsmouth  'Ard; 
Anythin'  for  business,  an'  we  're  growin'  old  — 
Plyin'  up  an'  down,  Jenny,  waitin'  in  the  cold! 

The  Liner  she  's  a  lady  by  the  paint  upon  'er  face. 
An'  if  she  meets  an  accident  they  count  it  sore  disgrace: 
The  Man-o'-War  's  'er  'usband,  and  'e  's  always  'andy  by. 
But,  oh,  the  little  cargo-boats,  they  've  got  to  load  or  die ! 

The  Liner  she  's  a  lady,  and  'er  route  is  cut  an'  dried  ;^ 
The  Man-o'-War  's  'er  'usband,  an'  'e  always  keeps  beside ; 
But,  oh,  the  httle  cargo-boats  that  'ave  n't  any  man, 
They  've  got  to  do  their  business  first,  and  make  the  most  they 
can! 


76  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

The  Liner  she  's  a  lady,  and  if  a  war  should  come, 
The  Man-o'-War  's  'er  'usband,  and  'e  'd  bid  'er  stay  at  home ; 
But,  oh,  the  httle  cargo-boats  that  fill  with  every  tide! 
'E  'd  'ave  to  up  an'  fight  for  them,  for  they  are  England's 
pride. 


The  Liner  she  's  a  lady,  but  if  she  was  n't  made. 

There  still  would  be  the  cargo-boats  for  'ome  an'  foreign 

trade. 
The  Man-o'-War  's  'er  'usband,  but  if  we  was  n't  'ere, 
'E  would  n't  have  to  fight  at  all  for  'ome  an'  friends  so  dear. 


'Ome  an'  friends  so  dear,  Jenny,  'angin*  round  the  Yard, 
All  the  way  by  F  rat  ton  tram  down  to  Portsmouth  'Ard; 
Anythin'  for  business,  an'  we  're  growin'  old  — 
'Ome  an'  friends  so  dear,  Jenny,  waiti/n'  in  the  cold! 


THE    FIRST    CHANTEY 

1896 

iVl  INE  was  the  woman  to  me,  darkling  I  found  her : 
Haling  her  dumb  from  the  camp^^ldriier  and  bound  her, 
Hot  rose  her  tribe  on  our  track  ere  I  had  proved  her; 
Hearing  her  laugh  in  the  gloom,  greatly  I  loved  her. 


Swift  through  the  forest  we  ran,  none  stood  to  guard  us. 
Few  were  my  people  and  far ;    then  the  flood  barred  us  — 
Him  we  call  Son  of  the  Sea,  sullen  and  swollen. 
Panting  we  waited  the  death,  stealer  and  stolen. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  77 

Yet  ere  they  came  to  my  lance  laid  for  the  slaughter, 
Lightly  she  leaped  to  a  log  lapped  in  the  water ; 
Holding  on  high  and  apart  skins  that  arrayed  her, 
Called  she  the  God  of  the  Wind  that  He  should  aid  her. 


Life  had  the  tree  at  that  word  (Praise  we  the  Giver!) 
Otter-like  left  he  the  bank  for  the  full  river. 
Far  fell  their  axes  behind,  flashing  and  ringing, 
Wonder  was  on  me  and  fear  —  yet  she  was  singing ! 

Low  lay  the  land  we  had  left.     Now  the  blue  bound  us. 
Even  the  Floor  of  the  Gods  level  around  us. 
Whisper  there  was  not,  nor  word,  shadow  nor  showing. 
Till  the  light  stirred  on  the  deep,  glowing  and  growing. 


Then  did  He  leap  to  His  place  flaring  from  under. 
He  the  Compeller,  the  Sun,  bared  to  our  wonder. 
Nay,  not  a  league  from  our  eyes  blinded  with  gazing. 
Cleared  He  the  Gate  of  the  World,  huge  and  amazing! 


This  we  beheld  (and  we  live)  — the  Pit  of  the  Burning! 
Then  the  God  spoke  to  the  tree  for  our  returning; 
Back  to  the  beach  of  our  flight,  fearless  and  slowly, 
Back  to  our  slayers  went  he:   but  we  w^ere  holy. 


Men  that  were  hot  in  that  hunt,  women  that  followed. 
Babes  that  were  promised  our  bones,  trembled  and  wallowed 
Over  the  necks  of  the  Tribe  crouching  and  fawning  — 
Prophet  and  priestess  we  came  back  from  the  dawning! 


78  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

THE   LAST  CHANTEY 

1892 

"  And  there  was  no  more  sea  " 

1  HUS  said  the  Lord  in  the  Vault  above  the  Cherubim, 
Calling  to  the  Angels  and  the  Souls  in  their  degree: 
"  Lo  !    Earth  has  passed  away 
On  the  smoke  of  Judgment  Day. 
That  Our  word  may  be  estabhshed  shall  We  gather  up  the 
sea?" 


Loud  sang  the  souls  of  the  jolly,  jolly  mariners: 

"  Plague  upon  the  hurricane  that  made  us  furl  and  flee ! 
But  the  war  is  done  between  us. 
In  the  deep  the  Lord  hath  seen  us  — 
Our  bones  we  '11  leave  the  barracout',  and  God  may  sink 
the  sea !  " 


Then  said  the  soul  of  Judas  that  betrayed  Him: 

"Lord,  hast  Thou  forgotten  Thy  covenant  with  me? 

How  once  a  year  I  go 

To  cool  me  on  the  floe? 
And  Ye  take  my  day  of  mercy  if  Ye  take  away  the  sea ! 


Then  said  the  soul  of  the  Angel  of  the  Off-shore  Wind: 
(He  that  bits  the  thunder  when  the  bull-mouthed  breakers 
flee): 
"  I  have  watch  and  ward  to  keep 
O'er  Thy  wonders  on  the  deep. 
And  Ye  take  mine  honour  from  me  if  Ye  take  away  the 
sea!" 


II  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  79 

Loud  sang  the  souls  of  the  jolly,  jolly  mariners: 
"  Nay,  but  we  were  angry,  and  a  hasty  folk  are  we ! 
If  we  worked  the  ship  together 
Till  she  foundered  in  foul  weather. 
Are  we  babes  that  we  should  clamour  for  a  vengeance  on 
the  sea?  " 


Then  said  the  souls  of  the  slaves  that  men  threw  overboard: 
"  Kennelled  in  the  picaroon  a  weary  band  were  we ; 
But  Thy  arm  was  strong  to  save. 
And  it  touched  us  on  the  wave. 
And  we  drowsed  the  long  tides  idle  till  Thy  Trumpets  tore 
the  sea." 


Then  cried  the  soul  of  the  stout  Apostle  Paul  to  God: 
"  Once  we  frapped  a  ship,  and  she  laboured  woundily. 
There  were  fourteen  score  of  these. 
And  they  blessed  Thee  on  their  knees, 
When  they  learned  Thy  Grace  and  Glory  under  Malta  by 
the  sea !  " 


Loud  sang  the  souls  of  the  jolly,  jolly  mariners, 

Plucking  at  their  harps,  and  they  plucked  unhandily: 
"  Our  thumbs  are  rough  and  tarred, 
And  the  tune  is  something  hard  — 
May  we  lift  a  Deepsea  Chantey  such  as  seamen  use  at 
sea?" 


Then  said  the  souls  of  the  gentlemen-adventurers  — 
Fettered  wrist  to  bar  all  for  red  iniquity: 
"  Ho,  we  revel  in  our  chains 
O'er  the  sorrow  that  was  Spain's ; 
Heave  or  sink  it,  leave  or  drink  it,  we  were  masters  of  the 
sea!" 


80  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Up  spake  the  soul  of  a  grey  Gothavn  'speckshioner  — 
(He  that  led  the  flinching  in  the  fleets  of  fair  Dundee)  : 
"  Oh,  the  ice-blink  white  and  near, 
And  the  bowhead  breaching  clear! 
Will  Ye  whelm  them  all  for  wantonness  that  wallow  in  the 
sea?  " 

Loud  sang  the  souls  of  the  jolly,  jolly  mariners, 

Crying :   "  Under  Heaven,  here  is  neither  lead  nor  lee ! 

Must  we  sing  for  evermore 

On  the  windless,  glassy  floor? 
Take  back  your  golden  fiddles  and  we  '11  beat  to  open  sea !  " 

Then  stooped  the  Lord,  and  He  called  the  good  sea  up  to 
Him, 
And  'stablished  its  borders  unto  all  eternity, 
That  such  as  have  no  pleasure 
For  to  praise  the  Lord  by  measure, 
They  may  enter  into  galleons  and  serve  Him  on  the  sea. 

Sun,  windy  and  cloud  shall  fail  not  from  the  face  of  it. 
Stinging,  ringing  spindrift,  nor  the  fulmar  flying  free; 
And  the  ships  shall  go  abroad 
To  the  Glory  of  the  Lord 
Who  heard  the  silly  sailor-folk  and  gave  them  back  their 
seal 


THE  LONG  TRAIL   • 

1  HERE  'S  a  whisper  down  the  field  where  the  year  has  shot 
her  yield, 
And  the  ricks  stand  grey  to  the  sun, 
Singing :    "  Over  then,  come  over,  for  the  bee  lias  quit  the 
clover, 
"  And  your  English  summer  's  done." 


RUDYx\RDKIPLING  81 

You  have  heard  the  beat  of  the  ofF-sliore  wind, 
And  the  thresh  of  the  deep-sea  rain ; 
You  have  heard  the  song  —  how  long!    how  long? 
Pull  out  on  the  trail  again ! 

Ha'  done  with  the  Tents  of  Shem,  dear  lass, 

We  've  seen  the  seasons  through, 

And  it  's  time  to  turn  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail,  the 

out  trail, 
Pull  out,  pull  out,  on  the  Long  Trail  —  the  trail  that  is 

always  new! 

It 's  North  you  may  run  to  the  rime-ringed  sun 

Or  South  to  the  blind  Horn's  hate; 
Or  East  all  the  way  into  Mississippi  Bay, 
Or  West  to  the  Golden  Gate ; 

Where  the  blindest  bluffs  hold  good,  dear  lass, 

And  the  wildest  tales  are  true. 

And  the  men  bulk  big  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail, 

the  out  trail, 
And  life  runs  large  on  the  Long  Trail  —  the  trail 
that  is  always  new. 

The  days  are  sick  and  cold,  and  the  skies  are  grey  and  old. 

And  the  twice-breathed  airs  blow  damp ; 
And  I  'd  sell  my  tired  soul  for  the  bucking  beam-sea  roll 
Of  a  black  Bilbao  tramp; 

With  her  load-Hne  over  her  hatch,  dear  lass. 

And  a  drunken  Dago  crew. 

And  her  nose  held  down  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail, 

the  out  trail 
From  Cadiz  Bar  on  the  Long  Trail  —  the  trail  that 
is  always  new. 

There  be  triple  ways  to  take,  of  the  eagle  or  the  snake. 

Or  the  way  of  a  man  with  a  maid; 
But  the  sweetest  way  to  me  is  a  ship's  upon  the  sea 

In  the  heel  of  the  North-East  Trade. 

6 


82  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Can  you  hear  the  crash  on  her  bows,  dear  lass, 

And  the  drum  of  the  racing  screw, 

As  she  ships  it  green  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail, 

the  out  trail. 
As  she  Hfts  and  'scends  on  the  Long  Trail  —  the  trail 

that  is  always  new? 

See  the  shaking  funnels  roar,  with  the  Peter  at  the  fore, 

And  the  fenders  grind  and  heave, 
And  the  derricks  clack  and  grate,  as  the  tackle  hooks  the  crate, 
And  the  fall-rope  whines  through  the  sheave; 
It 's  "  Gang-plank  up  and  in,"  dear  lass. 
It  's  "  Hawsers  warp  her  through !  " 
And  it 's  "  All  clear  aft  "  on  the  old  trail,  our  own 

trail,  the  out  trail. 
We  're  backing  down  on  the  Long  Trail  —  the  trail 
that  is  always  new. 

O  the  mutter  overside,  when  the  port-fog  holds  us  tied. 

And  the  sirens  hoot  their  dread! 
When  foot  by  foot  we  creep  o'er  the  hueless  viewless  deep 
To  the  sob  of  the  questing  lead! 

It 's  down  by  the  Lower  Hope,  dear  lass, 

With  the  Gunfleet  Sands  in  view. 

Till  the  Mouse  swings  green  on  the  old  trail,  our  own 

trail,  the  out  trail. 
And  the  Gull  Light  lifts  on  the  Long  Trail  —  the  trail 
that  is  always  new. 

O  the  blazing  tropic  night,  when  the  wake 's  a  welt  of  light 

That  holds  the  hot  sky  tame. 
And  the  steady  fore-foot  snores  through  the  planet-powdered 
floors 
Where  the  scared  whale  flukes  in  flame ! 

Her  plates  are  scarred  by  the  sun,  dear  lass, 
And  her  ropes  are  taunt  with  the  dew, 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  83 

For  we  're  boomlnrr  down  on  the  old  trail,  our  own 

trail,  the  out  trail, 
We  're  sagging  south  on  the  Long  Trail  —  the  trail 

that  is  always  new. 

Then  home,  get  her  home,  where  the  drunken  rollers  comb, 

And  the  shouting  seas  drive  by. 
And  the  engines  stamp  and  ring,  and  the  wet  bows  reel  and 
swing. 
And  the  Southern  Cross  rides  high ! 

Yes,  the  old  lost  stars  wheel  back,  dear  lass. 

That  blaze  in  the  velvet  blue. 

They  're  all  old  friends  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail, 

the  out  trail, 
They  're  God's  own  guides  on  the  Long  Trail  —  the 
trail  that  is  always  new. 

Fly  forward,  O  my  heart,  from  the  Foreland  to  the  Start  — 

We  're  steaming  all  too  slow, 
And  it 's  twenty  thousand  mile  to  our  little  lazy  isle 
Where  the  trumpet-orchids  blow! 

You  have  heard  the  call  of  the  oif-shore  wind 
And  the  voice  of  the  deep-sea  ran ; 
You  have  heard  the  song.     How  long  —  how  lono-? 
Pull  out  on  the  trail  again ! 

The  Lord  knows  what  we  may  find,  dear  lass, 

And  The  Deuce  knows  what  we  may  do  — 

But  we  're  back  once  more  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail, 

the  out  trail, 
We  're  down,  hull  down,  on  the  Long  Trail  —  the  trail 

that  is  always  new! 


84  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

A   SONG   OF  THE   ENGLISH 

1893 

J^  AIR  is  our  lot  —  0  goodly  is  our  heritage! 
(Humble  ye,  my  people,  and  he  fearful  in  your  mirth!) 

For  the  Lord  our  God  Most  High 

He  hath  made  the  deep  as  dry. 
He  hath  smote  for  us  a  pathway  to  the  ends  of  all  the  Earth! 

Yea,  though  we  sinned  —  and  our  rulers  went  from  righteous- 
ness— 
Deep  in  all  dishonour  though  we  stained  our  garments^  hem. 
Oh  he  ye  not  dismayed. 
Though  we  stumhled  and  we  strayed. 
We  were  led  hy  evil  counsellors  —  the  Lord  shall  deal  with 
them! 

Hold  ye  the  Faith  —  the  Faith  our  Fathers  sealed  us; 
Whoring  not  with  "visions  —  overwise  and  overstate. 

Except  ye  pay  the  Lord 

Single  heart  and  single  sword. 
Of  your  children  in  their  hondage  He  shall  ask  them  trehle- 
tale! 

Keep  ye  the  Law  —  he  swift  in  all  ohedience  — 

Clear  the  land  of  evil,  drive  the  road  and  hridge  the  ford. 

Make  ye  sure  to  each  his  own 

That  he  reap  where  he  hath  sown; 
By  the  peace  among  Our  peoples  let  men  know  we  serve  the 
Lord! 


Hear  now  a  song  —  a  song  of  hroken  interludes  — 
A  song  of  little  cunning;    of  a  singer  nothing  worth. 

Through  the  naked  words  and  mean 

May  ye  see  the  truth  hetween 
As  the  singer  knew  and  touched  it  in  the  ends  of  all  the  Earth! 


RUDYARD    KIPLING  85 


THE   COASTWISE   LIGHTS 

v_yUR  brows  are  bound  with  spindrift  and  the  weed  is  on 

our  knees ; 
Our  loins  are  battered  'neath  us  by  the  swinging,  smoking 

seas. 
From  reef  and  rock  and  skerry  —  over  headland,  ness,  and 

voe  — 
The  Coastwise  Lights  of  England  watch  the  ships  of  England 

go! 

Through  the  endless  summer  evenings,  on  the  Hneless,  level 

floors ; 
Through  the  yelling  Channel  tempest  when  the  siren  hoots 

and  roars  — 
By  day   the  dipping  house-flag  and  by  night  the   rocket's 

trail  — 
As  the  sheep  that  graze  behind  us  so  we  know  them  where  they 

hail. 


We  bridge  across  the  dark,  and  bid  the  helmsman  have  a  care. 
The  flash  that  wheeling  inland  wakes  his  sleeping  wife  to 

prayer ; 
From  our  vexed  eyries,  head  to   gale,  we  bind  in  burning 

chains 
The  lover   from  the   sea-rim   drawn  —  his   love  in   English 

lanes. 


We  greet  the  clippers  wing-and-wing  that  race  the  Southern 

wool; 
We  warn  the  crawling  cargo-tanks  of  Bremen,  Leith,  and 

Hull; 
To  each  and  all  our  equal  lamp  at  peril  of  the  sea  — 
The  white  wall-sided  warships  or  the  whalers  of  Dundee! 


86  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Come  up,  come  in  from  Eastward,  from  the  guardports  of  the 

MoiTi ! 
Beat  up,  beat  in  from  Southerly,  O  gipsies  of  the  Horn ! 
Swift  shuttles  of  an  Empire's  loom  that  weave  us  main  to 

main, 
The  Coastwise  Lights  of  England  give  you  welcome  back 

again ! 

Go,  get  you  gone  up-Channel  with  the  sea-crust  on   your 

plates ; 
Go,  get  you  into  London  with  the  burden  of  your  freights ! 
Haste,  for  they  talk  of  Empire  there,  and  say,  if  any  seek. 
The  Lights  of  England  sent  you  and  by  silence  shall  ye  speak! 


THE   SONG  OF  THE  DEAD 

11  EAR  now  the  Song  of  the  Dead  —  in  the  North  hy  the 

torn  berg-edges  — 
They  that  look  still  to  the  Pole,  asleep  by  their  hide-stripped 

sledges. 
Song  of  the  Dead  in  the  South  —  in  the  sun  by  their  skeleton 

horses. 
Where  the  warrigal  whimpers  and  bays  through  the  dust  of 

the  sere  river-courses. 

Song  of  the  Dead  in  the  East  —  in  the  heat-rotted  jungle 

hollows. 
Where  the  dog-ape  barks  in  the  kloof  —  in  the  brake  of  the 

buffalo-wallows. 
Song  of  the  Dead  in  the  West  —  in  the  Barrens,  the  pass 

that  betrayed  them. 
Where  the  wolverine  tumbles  their  packs  from  the  camp  and 

the  grave-mound  they  made  them; 
Hear  now  the  Song  of  the  Dead! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  87 


We    were    dreamers,    dreaming    greatly,    in    the    man-stifled 

town ; 
We  yearned  beyond  the  sky-line  where  the  strange  roads  go 

down. 
Came  the  Whisper,  came  the  Vision,  came  the  Power  with  the 

Need, 
Till  the  Soul  that  is  not  man's  soul  was  lent  us  to  lead. 
As  the  deer  breaks  —  as  the  steer  breaks  —  from  the  herd 

where  they  graze. 
In  the  faith  of  little  children  we  went  on  our  ways. 
Then  the  wood  failed  —  then  the  food  failed  —  then  the  last 

water  dried  — 
In  the  faith  of  little  children  we  lay  down  and  died. 
On  the  sand-drift  —  on  the  veldt-side  —  in  the  fern-scrub  we 

lay, 
That  our  sons  might  follow  after  by  the  bones  on  the  way. 
Follow  after  —  follow  after !     We  have  watered  the  root. 
And  the  bud  has  come  to  blossom  that  ripens  for  fruit! 
Follow  after  —  we  are  waiting,  by  the  trails  that  we  lost. 
For  the  sounds  of  many  footsteps,  for  the  tread  of  a  host. 
Follow  after  —  follow  after  —  for  the  harvest  is  sown  : 
By  the  bones  about  the  wayside  ye  shall  come  to  your  own! 

When  Drake  went  down  to  the  Horn 
And  England  was  crowned  thereby^ 

'Twixt  seas  unsailed  and  shores  unhailed 
Our  Lodge  —  our  Lodge  was  born 
{And  England  was  crowned  thereby!) 

Which  never  shall  close  again 

By  day  nor  yet  by  nighty 
While  man  shall  take  his  life  to  stake 

At  risk  of  shoal  or  main 

{By  day  nor  yet  by  night) 


88  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

But  standeth  even  so 
As  now  we  witness  here. 

While  men  depart,  of  joyful  heart. 
Adventure  for  to  know 
{As  now  bear  witness  here!) 


II 

We  have  fed  our  sea  for  a  thousand  years 

And  she  calls  us,  still  unfed, 
Though  there  's  never  a  wave  of  all  her  waves 

But  marks  our  English  dead : 
We  have  strawed  our  best  to  the  weed's  unrest, 

To  the  shark  and  the  sheering  gull. 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty, 

Lord  God,  we  ha'  paid  in  full! 

There  's  never  a  flood  goes  shoreward  now 

But  lifts  a  keel  we  manned; 
There  's  never  an  ebb  goes  seaward  now 

But  drops  our  dead  on  the  sand  — 
But  slinks  our  dead  on  the  sands  forlore. 

From  the  Ducies  to  the  Swin. 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty. 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty, 

Lord  God,  we  ha'  paid  it  in ! 


I 


We  must  feed  our  sea  for  a  thousand  years, 

For  that  is  our  doom  and  pride, 
As  it  was  when  they  sailed  with  the  Golden  Hind, 

Or  the  wreck  that  struck  last  tide  — 
Or  the  wreck  that  lies  on  the  spouting  reef 

Where  the  ghastly  blue-lights  flare. 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty. 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty, 
If  blood  be  the  price  of  admiralty. 

Lord  God,  wc  ha'  bought  it  fair ! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  89 


THE  DEEP-SEA  CABLES 

1  HE  wrecks  dissolve  above  us ;   their  dust  drops  down  from 

afar  — 
Down  to  the  dark,  to  the  utter  dark,  where  the  blind  white  sea- 
snakes  are. 
There  is  no  sound,  no  echo  of  sound,  in  the  deserts  of  the  deep, 
Or  the  great  grey  level  plains  of  ooze  where  the  shell-burred 
cables  creep. 

Here  in  the  womb  of  the  world  —  here  on  the  tie-ribs  of  earth 
Words,  and  the  words  of  men,  flicker  and  flutter  and  beat  — 

Warning,  sorrow,  and  gain,  salutation  and  mirth  — 

For  a  Power  troubles  the  Still  that  has  neither  voice  nor 
feet. 

They  have  wakened  the  timeless  Things ;    they  have  killed 
their  father  Time; 
Joining  hands  in  the  gloom,  a  league  from  the  last  of  the 
sun. 
Hush !    Men  talk  to-day  o'er  the  waste  of  the  ultimate  slime. 
And  a  new  Word  runs  between :   whispering,  "  Let  us  be 
one ! " 


THE   SONG  OF  THE  SONS 

V^NE  from  the  ends  of  the  earth  —  gifts  at  an  open  door  — 
Treason  has  much,  but  we,  Mother,  thy  sons  have  more! 
From  the  whine  of  a  dying  man,  from  the  snarl  of  a  wolf -pack 

freed. 
Turn,  and  the  world  is  thine.    Mother,  be  proud  of  thy  seed ! 
Count,  are  we  feeble  or  few?     Hear,  is  our  speech  so  rude? 
Look,  are  we  poor  in  the  land?     Judge,  are  we  men  of  The 

Blood.? 


90  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Those  that  have  stayed  at  thy  knees,  Mother,  go  call  them 

in  — 
We  that  were  bred  overseas  wait  and  would  speak  with  our 

kin. 
Not  in  the  dark  do  we  fight  —  haggle  and  flout  and  gibe ; 
Selling  our  love  for  a  price,  loaning  our  hearts  for  a  bribe. 
Gifts  have  we  only  to-day  —  Love  without  promise  or  fee  — 
Hear,  for  thy  children  speak,  from  the  uttermost  parts  of  the 

sea! 


THE  SONG  OF  THE   CITIES 


BOMBAY 

IVOYAL  and  Dower-royal,  I  the  Queen 

Fronting  thy  richest  sea  with  richer  hands  — 

A  thousand  mills  roar  through  me  where  I  glean 
All  races  from  all  lands. 


Ar^^ 


CALCUTTA 


Me  the  Sea-captain  loved,  the  River  built. 

Wealth  sought  and  Kings  adventured  life  to  hold. 

Hail,  England  !     I  am  Asia  —  Power  on  silt, 
Death  in  my  hands,  but  Gold ! 


MADRAS 


Clive  kissed  me  on  the  mouth  and  eyes  and  brow. 

Wonderful  kisses,  so  that  I  became 
Crowned  above  Queens  —  a  withered  beldame  now, 

Brooding  on  ancient  fame. 


RANGOON 


Hail,  Mother!    Do  they  call  me  rich  in  trade? 

Little  care  I,  but  hear  the  shorn  priest  drone, 
And  watch  my  silk-clad  lovers,  man  by  maid. 

Laugh  'neath  my  Shwe  Dagon. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  91 

SINGAPORE 

Hail,  Mother!     East  and  West  must  seek  my  aid 
Ere  the  spent  (rear  may  dare  the  poi*ts  afar. 

The  second  doorway  of  the  wide  world's  trade 
Is  mine  to  loose  or  bar. 

HOXG-KOXG 

Hail,  Mother !    Hold  me  fast ;   my  Praya  sleeps 

Under  innumerable  keels  to-day. 
Yet  guard  (and  landward),  or  to-morrow  sweeps 

Thy  warships  down  the  bay ! 

HALIFAX 

Into  the  mist  my  guardian  prows  put  forth, 
Behind  the  mist  my  virgin  ramparts  lie, 

The  Warden  of  the  Honour  of  the  North, 
Sleepless  and  veiled  am  I ! 

QUEBEC    AND    MONTREAL 

Peace  is  our  portion.  Yet  a  whisper  rose, 
Foohsh  and  causeless,  half  in  jest,  half  hate. 

Now  wake  we  and  remember  mighty  blows. 
And,  fearing  no  man,  wait! 

VICTORL\ 

From  East  to  West  the  circling  word  has  passed. 
Till  West  is  East  beside  our  land-locked  blue; 

From  East  to  West  the  tested  chain  holds  fast, 
The  well-forged  link  rings  true ! 

CAPETOWN 

Hail !     Snatched  and  bartered  oft  from  hand  to  hand, 
I  dream  my  dream,  by  rock  and  heath  and  pine, 

Of  Empire  to  the  northward.  Ay,  one  land 
From  Lion's  Head  to  Line! 


92  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 


MELBOURNE 


Greeting !     Nor  fear  nor  favour  won  us  place, 
Got  between  greed  of  gold  and  dread  of  drouth, 

Loud-voiced  and  reckless  as  the  wild  tide-race 
That  whips  our  harbour-mouth ! 


SYDNEY 


Greeting !     My  birth-stain  have  I  turned  to  good ; 

Forcing  strong  wills  perverse  to  steadfastness : 
The  first  flush  of  the  tropics  in  my  blood, 

And  at  my  feet  Success ! 


BRISBANE 


The  northern  stirp  beneath  the  southern  skies  — 
I  build  a  Nation  for  an  Empire's  need, 

Suffer  a  little,  and  my  land  shall  rise, 
Queen  over  lands  indeed! 


HOBART 


Man's  love  first  found  me ;   man's  hate  made  me  Hell ; 

For  my  babes'  sake  I  cleansed  those  infamies. 
Earnest  for  leave  to  live  and  labour  well, 

God  flung  me  peace  and  ease. 


AUCKLAND 


Last,  loneliest,  loveliest,  exquisite,  apart  — 
On  us,  on  us  the  unswer^^ing  season  smiles, 

Who  wonder  'mid  our  fern  why  men  depart 
To  seek  the  Happy  Isles! 


\ 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  93 

ENGLAND'S    ANSWER 

1  RULY  ye  come  of  Tlie  Blood ;    slower  to  bless  than  to 

ban ; 
Little  used  to  lie  down  at  the  bidding  of  any  man. 
Flesh  of  the  flesh  that  I  bred,  bone  of  the  bone  that  I  bare ; 
Stark  as  your  sons  shall  be  —  stem  as  your  fathers  were. 
Deeper  than  speech  our  love,  stronger  than  life  our  tether, 
But  we  do  not  fall  on  the  neck  nor  kiss  when  we  come  together. 
My  ann  is  nothing  weak,  my  strength  is  not  gone  by ; 
Sons,  I  have  bonie  many  sons,  but  my  dugs  are  not  dry. 
Look,  I  have  made  ye  a  place  and  opened  wade  the  doors. 
That  ye  may  talk  together,  your  Barons  and  Councillors  — 
Wards  of  the  Outer  March,  Lords  of  the  Lower  Seas, 
Ay,  talk  to  your  grey  mother  that  bore  you  on  her  knees !  — 
That  ye  may  talk  together,  brother  to  brother's  face  — 
Thus  for  the  good  of  your  peoples  —  thus  for  the  Pride  of 

the  Race. 
Also,  we  will  make  promise.     So  long  as  The  Blood  endures, 
I  shall  know  that  your  good  is  mine:    ye  shall  feel  that  my 

strength  is  yours: 
In  the  day  of  Armageddon,  at  the  last  great  fight  of  all. 
That  Our  House  stand  together  and  the  pillars  do  not  fall. 
Draw  now  the  threefold  knot  firm  on  the  ninefold  bands. 
And  the  Law  that  ye  make  shall  be  law  after  the  rule  of  your 

lands. 
This  for  the  waxen  Heath,  and  that  for  the  Wattle-bloom, 
Tliis  for  the  Maple-leaf,  and  that  for  the  southern  Broom. 
The  Law  that  ye  make  shall  be  law  and  I  do  not  press  my  will. 
Because  ye  are  Sons  of  The  Blood  and  call  me  Mother  still. 
Now  must  ye  speak  to  your  kinsmen  and  they  must  speak  to 

you, 
After  the  use  of  the  English,  in  straight-flung  words  and  few. 
Go  to  your  work  and  be  strong,  halting  not  in  your  ways, 
Baulking  the  end  half-won  for  an  instant  dole  of  praise. 
Stand  to  your  work  and  be  wise  —  certain  of  sword  and  pen, 
Who  are  neither  children  nor  Gods,  but  men  in  a  world  of  men ! 


94.  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

TO    THE   CITY   OF   BOMBAY 

1894 

1  HE  Cities  are  full  of  pride, 
Challenging  each  to  each  — 

This  from  her  mountain-side, 
That  from  her  burthened  beach. 

They  count  their  ships  full  tale  — 
Their  corn  and  oil  and  wine, 

Derrick  and  loom  and  bale. 

And  rampart's  gun-flecked  line ; 

City  by  City  they  hail: 

"  Hast  aught  to  match  with  mine  ?  " 

And  the  men  that  breed  from  them 
They  traffic  up  and  down, 

But  chng  to  their  cities'  hem 

As  a  child  to  the  mother's  gown. 

When  they  talk  with  the  stranger  bands. 

Dazed  and  newly  alone; 
When  they  walk  in  the  stranger  lands, 

By  roaring  streets  unknown ; 
Blessing  her  where  she  stands 

For  strength  above  their  own. 

(On  high  to  hold  her  fame 
That  stands  all  fame  beyond, 

By  oath  to  back  the  same, 
Most  faithful-foolish-fond ; 

Making  her  mcre-breathcd  name 
Their  bond  upon  their  bond.) 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  95 

So  thank  I  God  my  birth 

Fell  not  in  isles  aside  — 
Waste  headlands  of  the  earth, 

Or  warring  tribes  untried  — 
But  that  she  lent  me  worth 

And  gave  me  right  to  pride. 

Surely  in  toil  or  fray 

Under  an  alien  sky, 
Comfort  it  is  to  say: 

"  Of  no  mean  city  am  I !  " 

(Neither  by  service  nor  fee 

Come  I  to  mine  estate  — 
Mother  of  Cities  to  me, 

For  I  was  born  in  her  gate, 
Between  the  palms  and  the  sea, 

Where  the  world-end  steamers  wait.) 

Now  for  this  debt  I  owe, 

And  for  her  far-borne  cheer 
Must  I  make  haste  and  go 

With  tribute  to  her  pier.. 

And  she  shall  touch  and  remit 

After  the  use  of  kings 
(Orderly,  ancient,  fit) 

My  deep-sea  plunderings. 
And  purchase  in  all  lands. 

And  this  we  do  for  a  sign 

Her  power  is  over  mine. 
And  mine  I  hold  at  her  hands! 


96  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

OUR  LADY  OF  THE  SNOWS 
1897 

(Canadian  Preferential  Tariffs  1897) 

A   NATION  spoke  to  a  Nation, 

A  Queen  sent  word  to  a  Throne: 
"  Daughter  am  I  in  my  mother's  house, 

But  mistress  in  my  own. 
The  gates  are  mine  to  open, 

As  the  gates  are  mine  to  close. 
And  I  set  my  house  in  order," 

Said  our  Lady  of  the  Snows. 

"  Neither  with  laughter  nor  weeping. 

Fear  or  the  child's  amaze  — 
Soberly  under  the  White  Man's  law 

My  white  men  go  their  ways. 
Not  for  the  Gentiles'  clamour  — 

Insult  or  threat  of  blows  — 
Bow  we  the  knee  to  Baal," 

Said  our  Lady  of  the  Snows. 

"  My  speech  is  clean  and  single, 

I  talk  of  common  things  — 
Words  of  the  wharf  and  the  market-place 

And  the  ware  the  merchant  brings: 
Favour  to  those  I  favour, 

But  a  stumbling-block  to  my  foes. 
Many  there  be  that  hate  us," 

Said  our  Lady  of  the  Snows. 

"  I  called  my  chiefs  to  council 
In  the  din  of  a  troubled  year; 

For  the  sake  of  a  sign  ye  would  not  see, 
And  a  word  ye  would  not  hear. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  1)     K  I  P  1. 1  N  G  97 

This  is  our  message  and  answer; 

This  is  the  path  we  chose: 
For  we  be  also  a  people," 

Said  our  Lady  of  the  Snows. 

"  Carry  the  word  to  my  sisters  — 

To  the  Queens  of  the  East  and  the  South. 
I  have  proven  faith  in  the  Heritage 

By  more  than  the  word  of  the  mouth. 
They  that  are  wise  may  follow 

Ere  the  world's  war-trumpet  blows, 
But  I  —  I  am  first  in  the  battle," 

Said  our  Lady  of  the  Snows. 

A  Nation  spoke  to  a  Nation, 

A  Throne  sent  word  to  a  Throne: 
"  Daughter  am  I  in  my  mother's  house. 

But  mistress  in  my  own. 
The  gates  are  mine  to  open. 

As  the  gates  are  mine  to  close. 
And  I  abide  by  my  Mother's  House,^' 

Said  our  Lady  of  the  Snows. 


AN    AMERICAN 
1894 

The  American  spirit  speaks : 

"T 

1  F  the  Led  Striker  call  it  a  strike, 
Or  the  papers  call  it  a  war, 
They  know  not  much  what  I  am  like, 
Nor  what  he  is,  my  Avatar." 


98  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Through  many  roads,  by  me  possessed, 
He  shambles  forth  in  cosmic  guise ; 

He  is  the  Jester  and  the  Jest, 
And  he  the  Text  himself  applies. 

The  Celt  is  in  his  heart  and  hand, 
The  Gaul  is  in  his  brain  and  nerve; 

Where,  cosmopolitanly  planned, 

He  guards  the  Redskin's  dry  reserve 

His  easy  unswept  hearth  he  lends 
From  Labrador  to  Guadeloupe; 

Till,  elbowed  out  by  sloven  friends. 

He  camps,  at  sufferance,  on  the  stoop. 

Calm-eyed  he  scoffs  at  sword  and  crown, 
Or  panic-blinded  stabs  and  slays : 

Blatant  he  bids  the  world  bow  down. 
Or  cringing  begs  a  crust  of  praise; 

Or,  sombre-drunk,  at  mine  and  mart. 
He  dubs  his  dreary  brethren  Kings. 

His  hands  are  black  with  blood.     His  heart 
Leaps,  as  a  babe's,  at  Httle  things. 

But,  through  the  shift  of  mood  and  mood, 
Mine  ancient  humour  saves  him  whole  — 

The  cynic  devil  in  his  blood 

That  bids  him  mock  his  hurrying  soul; 

That  bids  him  flout  the  Law  he  makes. 
That  bids  him  make  the  Law  he  flouts. 

Till,  dazed  by  many  doubts,  he  wakes 

The  drumming  guns  that  —  have  no  doubts ; 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  99 

That  checks  him  foolish-hot  and  fond, 
That  chuckles  through  his  deepest  ire, 

That  gilds  the  slough  of  his  despond 
But  dims  the  goal  of  his  desire; 

Inopportune,  shrill-accented, 

The  acrid  Asiatic  mirth 
That  leaves  him,  careless  'mid  his  dead. 

The  scandal  of  the  elder  earth. 


How  shall  he  clear  himself,  how  reach 
Your  bar  or  weighed  defence  prefer? 

A  brother  hedged  with  alien  speech 
And  lacking  all  interpreter. 

Which  knowledge  vexes  him  a  space; 

But  while  Reproof  around  him  rings. 
He  turns  a  keen  untroubled  face 

Home,  to  the  instant  need  of  things. 

Enslaved,  illogical,  elate, 

He  greets  th'  embarrassed  Gods,  nor  fears 
To  shake  the  iron  hand  of  Fate 

Or  match  with  Destiny  for  beers. 

Lo,  imperturbable  he  rules. 

Unkempt,  disreputable,  vast  — 
And,  in  the  teeth  of  all  the  schools, 

I  —  I  shall  save  him  at  the  last ! 


100  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

THE  YOUNG  QUEEN 

1900 

{The  Commonwealth  of  Australia,  inaugurated  New  Yearns 

Day,  1901) 

11 ER  hand  was  still  on  her  sword-hilt,  the  spur  was  still  on 

her  heel, 
She  had  not  cast  her  harness  of  grey  war-dinted  steel ; 
High    on    her    red-splashed    charger,    beautiful,    bold,    and 

browned, 
Bright-eyed  out  of  the  battle,  the  Young  Queen  rode  to  be 

crowned. 

She  came  to  the  Old  Queen's  presence,  in  the  Hall  of  Our 

Thousand  Years  — 
In  the  Hall  of  the  Five  Free  Nations  that  are  peers  among 

their  peers : 
Royal  she  gave  the  greeting,  loyal  she  bowed  the  head, 
Crying  —  "  Crown  me,  my  Mother !  "     And  the  Old  Queen 

stood  and  said :  — 

"How  can  I  crown  thee  further?     I  know  whose  standard 

flies 
Where  the  clean  surge  takes  the  Leeuwin  or  the  coral  barriers 

rise. 
Blood  of  our  foes  on  thy  bridle,  and  speech  of  our  friends  in 

thy  mouth  — 
How  can  I  crown  thee  further,  O  Queen  of  the  Sovereign 

South.? 

"  Let   the   Five   Free   Nations   witness !  "      But   the   Young 

Queen  answered  swift:  — 
**  It  shall  be  crown  of  Our  crowning  to  hold  Our  crown  for  a 

gift. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  101 

In  the  days  when  Our  folk  were  feeble  thy  sword  made  sure 

Our  lands : 
Wherefore   We  come  in  power   to   take  Our   crown   at   thy 

hands." 

And  the  Old  Queen  raised  and  kissed  her,  and  the  jealous 
circlet  prest, 

Roped  with  the  pearls  of  the  Northland  and  red  with  the  gold 
of  the  West, 

Lit  with  her  land's  own  opals,  levin-hearted,  alive. 

And  the  Five-starred  Cross  above  them,  for  sign  of  the  Na- 
tions Five. 


So  it  was  done  in  the  Presence  —  in  the  Hall  of  Our  Thou- 
sand Years, 

In  the  face  of  the  Five  Free  Nations  that  have  no  peer  but 
their  peers ; 

And  the  Young  Queen  out  of  the  Southland  kneeled  down  at 
the  Old  Queen's  knee. 

And  asked  for  a  mother's  blessing  on  the  excellent  years 
to  be. 

And  the  Old  Queen  stooped  in  the  stillness  where  the  jewelled 

head  drooped  low :  — 
"  Daughter  no  more  but  Sister,  and  doubly  Daughter  so  — 
Mother  of  many  princes  —  and  child  of  the  child  I  bore, 
What  good  thing  shall  I  wish  thee  that  I  have  not  wished 

before  ? 

"  Shall  I  give  thee  delight  in  dominion  —  mere  pride  of  thy 

setting  forth? 
Nay,  we  be  women  together  —  we  know  what  that  lust  is 

worth. 
Peace  in  thy  utmost  borders,  and  strength  on  a  road  untrod? 
These  are  dealt  or  diminished  at  the  secret  will  of  God. 


102  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

"  I  have  swayed  troublous   councils,  I   am  wise  in   terrible 

things ; 
Father  and  son  and  grandson,  I  have  known  the  hearts  of  the 

Kings. 
Shall  I  give  thee  my  sleepless  wisdom,  or  the  gift  all  wisdom 

above  ? 
Ay,  we  be  women  together  —  I  give  thee  thy  people's  love : 

"  Tempered,  august,  abiding,  reluctant  of  prayers  or  vows, 
Eager  in  face  of  peril  as  thine  for  thy  mother's  house. 
God  requite  thee,  my  Sister,  through  the  excellent  years  to  be, 
And  make  thy  people  to  love  thee  as  thou  hast  loved  me !  " 


THE   FLO\TORS 

1895 

"  To  our  'private  taste,  there  is  always  something  a  little 
exotic y  almost  artificial,  in  songs  which,  under  an  English 
aspect  and  dress,  are  yet  so  manifestly  the  product  of  other 
skies.  They  affect  us  like  translations ;  the  very  fauna  and 
flora  are  alien,  remote;  the  dog^s-tooth  violet  is  but  an  ill 
substitute  for  the  rathe  primrose,  nor  can  we  ever  believe 
that  the  wood-robin  sings  as  sweetly  in  April  as  the  English 
thrush J*^  The  Athen.i:um. 

JjUY  my  English  posies! 

Kent  and  Surrey  may  — 
Violets  of  the  Undercliff 

Wet  with  Channel  spray; 
Cowslips  from  a  Devon  combe  — 

Midland  furze  afire  — 
Buy  my  English  posies 

And  I  'II  sell  your  hearths  desire! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  108 

Buy  my  English  posies ! 

You  that  scorn  the  May, 
Won't  you  greet  a  friend  from  home 

Half  the  world  away? 
Green  against  the  draggled  drift, 

Faint  and  frail  and  first  — 
Buy  my  Northern  blood-root 

And  I  '11  know  where  you  were  nursed : 
Robin  down  the  logging-road  whistles,  *'  Come  to  me !  " 
Spring  has  found  the  maple-grove,  the  sap  is  running  free; 
All  the  winds  of  Canada  call  the  ploughing-rain. 
Take  the  flower  and  turn  the  hour,  and  kiss  your  love  again ! 


Buy  my  English  posies! 

Here  's  to  match  your  need  — 
Buy  a  tuft  of  royal  heath. 

Buy  a  bunch  of  weed 
White  as  sand  of  Muisenberg 

Spun  before  the  gale  — 
Buy  my  heath  and  lilies 

And  I  '11  tell  you  whence  you  hail ! 
Under  hot  Constantia  broad  the  vineyards  he  — 
Throned  and  thorned  the  aching  berg  props  the  speckless 

sky  — 
Slow  below  the  Wynberg  firs  trails  the  tilted  wain  — 
Take  the  flower  and  turn  the  hour,  and  kiss  your  love  again ! 


Buy  my  English  posies ! 

You  that  will  not  turn  — 
Buy  my  hot-wood  clematis, 

Buy  a  frond  o'  fern 
Gathered  where  the  Erskine  leaps 

Do^Ti  the  road  to  Lome  — 
Buy  my  Christmas  creeper 

And  I  '11  say  where  you  were  born ! 


104  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

West  away  from  Melbourne  dust  holidays  begin  — 
They  that  mock  at  Paradise  woo  at  Cora  Lynn  — 
Through  the  great  South  Otway  gums  sings  the  great  South 

Main  — 
Take  the  flower  and  turn  the  hour,  and  kiss  your  love  again ! 

Buy  my  English  posies ! 

Here  's  your  choice  unsold ! 
Buy  a  blood-red  myrtle-bloom, 

Buy  the  kowhai's  gold 
Flung  for  gift  on  Taupo's  face, 

Sign  that  spring  is  come  — 
Buy  my  clinging  myrtle 

And  I  '11  give  you  back  your  home ! 
Broom  behind  the  windy  town ;    pollen  o'  the  pine  — 
Bell-bird  in  the  leafy  deep  where  the  I'atas  twine  — 
Fern  above  the  saddle-bow,  flax  upon  the  plain  — 
Take  the  flower  and  turn  the  hour,  and  kiss  your  love  again ! 

Buy  my  English  posies ! 

Ye  that  have  your  own 
Buy  them  for  a  brother's  sake 

Overseas,  alone ! 
Weed  ye  trample  underfoot 
Floods  his  heart  abrim  — 
Bird  ye  never  heeded, 

Oh,  she  calls  his  dead  to  him ! 
Far  and  far  our  homes  are  set  round  the  Seven  Seas ; 
Woe  for  us  if  we  forget,  we  who  hold  by  these ! 
Unto  each  his  mother-beach,  bloom  and  bird  and  land  — 
Masters  of  the  Seven  Seas,  oh,  love  and  understand! 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  105 

THE   NATIVE-BORN 

1894 

We've  drunk  to  the  Queen  —  God  bless  her!  — 

We  Ve  drunk  to  our  mothers'  land ; 
We  've  drunk  to  our  EngHsh  brother, 

(But  he  does  not  understand)  ; 
We  've  drunk  to  the  wide  creation, 

And  the  Cross  swings  low  for  the  morn, 
Last  toast,  and  of  ObHgation, 

A  health  to  the  Native-born! 

They  change  their  skies  above  them. 

But  not  their  hearts  that  roam ! 
We  learned  from  our  wistful  mothers 

To  call  old  England  "  home  " ; 
We  read  of  the  English  sky-lark, 

Of  the  spring  in  the  English  lanes. 
But  we  screamed  with  the  painted  lories 

As  we  rode  on  the  dusty  plains! 

They  passed  with  their  old-world  legends  — 

Their  tales  of  wrong  and  dearth  — 
Our  fathers  held  by  purchase. 

But  we  by  the  right  of  birth ; 
Our  heart 's  where  they  rocked  our  cradle. 

Our  love  where  we  spent  our  toil. 
And  our  faith  and  our  hope  and  our  honour 

We  pledge  to  our  native  soil! 

I  charge  you  charge  your  glasses  — 

I  charge  you  drink  with  me 
To  the  men  of  the  Four  New  Nations, 

And  the  Islands  of  the  Sea  — 


106  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

To  the  last  least  lump  of  coral 
That  none  may  stand  outside, 

And  our  own  good  pride  shall  teach  us 
To  praise  our  comrade's  pride ! 

To  the  hush  of  the  breathless  morning 

On  the  thin,  tin,  crackling  roofs, 
To  the  haze  of  the  burned  back-ranges 

And  the  dust  of  the  shoeless  hoofs  — 
To  the  risk  of  a  death  by  drowning. 

To  the  risk  of  a  death  by  drouth  — 
To  the  men  of  a  million  acres. 

To  the  Sons  of  the  Golden  South! 


To  the  Sons  of  the  Golden  South  {Stand  up!), 

And  the  life  we  live  and  hnow^ 
Let  a  fellow  sing  o'  the  little  things  he  cares  about ^ 
If  a  fellow  fights  for  the  little  things  he  cares  about 

With  the  weight  of  a  single  blow! 


To  the  smoke  of  a  hundred  coasters, 

To  the  sheep  on  a  thousand  hills, 
To  the  sun  that  never  blisters, 

To  the  rain  that  never  chills  — 
To  the  land  of  the  waiting  springtime, 

To  our  five-meal,  meat-fed  men. 
To  the  tall,  deep-bosomed  women. 

And  the  children  nine  and  ten! 


And  the  children  nine  and  ten  {Stand  up!), 

And  the  life  we  live  and  knozv. 
Let  a  fellow  sing  o'  the  little  things  he  cares  abotity 
If  a  fellow  fights  for  the  little  things  he  cares  about 

With  the  weight  of  a  two-fold  blow! 


RUDYARD     KIPLIxNG  10' 

To  the  far-flung  fenceless  prairie 

Where  the  quick  cloud-shadows  trail, 
To  our  neighbour's  barn  in  the  offing 

And  the  line  of  the  new-cut  rail ; 
To  the  plough  in  her  league-long  furrow 

With  the  grey  Lake  gulls  behind  — 
To  the  weight  of  a  half-year's  winter 

And  the  warm  wet  western  wind! 


To  the  home  of  the  floods  and  thunder, 

To  her  pale  dry  healing  blue  — 
To  the  lift  of  the  great  Cape  combers. 

And  the  smell  of  the  baked  Karroo. 
To  the  growl  of  the  sluicing  stamp-head 

To  the  reef  and  the  water-gold, 
To  the  last  and  the  largest  Empire, 

To  the  map  that  is  half  unrolled! 


To  our  dear  dark  foster-mothers. 

To  the  heathen  songs  they  sung  — 
To  the  heathen  speech  we  babbled 

Ere  we  came  to  the  wliite  man's  tongue. 
To  the  cool  of  our  deep  verandas  — 

To  the  blaze  of  our  jewelled  main. 
To  the  night,  to  the  palms  in  the  moonlight, 

And  the  fire-fly  in  the  cane! 

To  the  hearth  of  Our  People's  People  — 

To  her  well-ploughed  windy  sea, 
To  the  hush  of  our  dread  high-altar 

Where  The  Abbey  makes  us  We. 
To  the  grist  of  the  slow-ground  ages, 

To  the  gain  that  is  yours  and  mine  — 
To  the  Bank  of  the  Open  Credit, 

To  the  Power-house  of  the  Line! 


108  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

We  've  drunk  to  the  Queen  —  God  bless  her !  — 

We  've  drunk  to  our  mothers'  land ; 
We  've  drunk  to  our  English  brother 

(And  we  hope  he'll  understand). 
We  've  drunk  as  much  as  we  're  able, 

And  the  Cross  swings  low  for  the  morn ; 
Last  toast  —  and  your  foot  on  the  table !  — 

A  health  to  the  Native-born! 

A  health  to  the  Native-born  (Stand  up!), 

We  We  six  white  men  arow. 
All  bound  to  sing  o'  the  little  things  we  care  abouty 
All  bound  to  fight  for  the  little  things  we  care  about 

With  the  weight  of  a  six-fold  blow! 
By  the  might  of  our  cable-tow  {Take  hands!). 

From  the  Orkneys  to  the  Horn, 
All  round  the  world  (and  a  little  loop  to  pull  it  by). 
All  round  the  world  (and  a  little  strap  to  buckle  it), 

A  health  to  the  Native-born! 


THE  LOST  LEGION 

1895 

1  HERE'S  a  Legion  that  never  was  'listed. 

That  carries  no  colours  or  crest. 
But,  split  in  a  thousand  detachments. 

Is  breaking  the  road  for  the  rest. 
Our  fathers  they  left  us  their  blessing  — 

They  taught  us,  and  groomed  us,  and  crammed ; 
But  we  've  shaken  the  Clubs  and  the  Messes 

To  go  and  find  out  and  be  damned 

(Dear  boys !), 

To  go  and  get  shot  and  be  damned. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  109 

So  some  of  us  chivy  the  slaver, 

And  some  of  us  cherish  the  black, 
And  some  of  us  hunt  on  the  Oil  Coast, 

And  some  on  the  Wallaby  track: 
And  some  of  us  drift  to  Sarawak, 

And  some  of  us  drift  up  The  Fly, 
And  some  share  our  tucker  with  tigers, 

And  some  with  the  gentle  Masai, 

(Dear  boys !), 

Take  tea  with  the  giddy  Masai. 

We  've  painted  The  Islands  vermiHon, 

We  've  pearled  on  half-shares  in  the  Bay, 
We  've  shouted  on  seven-ounce  nuggets. 

We  've  starved  on  a  Seedeeboy's  pay ; 
We  've  laughed  at  the  world  as  we  found  it,  — 

Its  women  and  cities  and  men  — 
From  Sayyid  Burgash  in  a  tantrum 

To  the  smoke-reddened  eyes  of  Loben, 

(Dear  boys !), 

We  've  a  httle  account  with  Loben. 

The  ends  o'  the  Earth  were  our  portion, 

The  ocean  at  large  was  our  share. 
There  was  never  a  skirmish  to  windward 

But  the  Leaderless  Legion  was  there: 
Yes,  somehow  and  somewhere  and  always 

We  were  first  when  the  trouble  began, 
From  a  lottery-row  in  Manila, 

To  an  I.D.B.  race  on  the  Pan 

(Dear  boys !), 

With  the  Mounted  Police  on  the  Pan. 

We  preach  in  advance  of  the  Army, 

We  skirmish  ahead  of  the  Church, 
With  never  a  gunboat  to  help  us 

When  we  're  scuppered  and  left  in  the  lurch- 


110  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

But  we  know  as  the  cartridges  finish, 

And  we  're  filed  on  our  last  little  shelves, 

That  the  Legion  that  never  was  'listed 
Will  send  us  as  good  as  ourselves 

(Good  men!), 
Five  hundred  as  good  as  ourselves! 

Then  a  health  (we  must  drink  it  in  whispers). 

To  our  wholly  unauthorised  horde  — 
To  the  line  of  our  dusty  foreloopers, 
The  Gentlemen  Rovers  abroad  — 
Yes,  a  health  to  ourselves  ere  we  scatter. 

For  the  steamer  won't  wait  for  the  train, 
And  the  Legion  that  never  was  'listed 
Goes  back  into  quarters  again 

'Regards  I 
Goes  back  under  canvas  again. 

Hurrah  I 
The  swag  and  the  billy  again. 

Here  's  how ! 
The  trail  and  the  packhorse  again. 

Salue ! 
The  trek  and  the  lager  again! 


PHARAOH  AND  THE  SERGEANT 

1897 

".  .  .  Consider  that  the  meritorious  services  of  the  Sergeant 
Instructors  attached  to  the  Egyptian  Army  have  been  in- 
adequately acknowledged.  .  .  .  To  the  excellence  of  their  work 
is  mainly  due  the  great  improvement  that  has  taken  place  in 
the  soldiers  of  H.H.  the  Khedive.** 

Extract  from  Letter. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  HI 

I^AID  England  unto  Pharaoh,  "  I  must  make  a  man  of  you, 

That  will  stand  upon  his  feet  and  play  the  game ; 
That  will  Maxim  his  oppressor  as  a  Christian  ought  to  do," 
And  she  sent  old  Pharaoh  Sergeant  Whatisname. 
It  was  not  a  Duke  nor  Earl,  nor  yet  a  Fi^count  — 

It  was  not  a  big  brass  General  that  came; 
But  a  man  in  khaki  kit  who  could  handle  men  a  bit, 
With  his  bedding  labelled  Sergeant  Whatisname. 

Said  England  unto  Pharaoh,  "  Though  at  present  singing 
small. 
You  shall  hum  a  proper  tune  before  it  ends," 
And  she  introduced  old  Pharaoh  to  the  Sergeant  once  for  all, 
And  left  'em  in  the  desert  making  friends. 
It  was  not  a  Crystal  Palace  nor  Cathedral ; 

It  was  not  a  public-house  of  common  fame ; 
But  a  piece  of  red-hot  sand,  with  a  palm  on  either  hand, 
And  a  little  hut  for  Sergeant  Whatisname. 

Said  England  unto  Pharaoh,  "  You  've  had  miracles  before, 

When  Aaron  struck  your  rivers  into  blood; 
But  if  you  watch  the  Sergeant  he  can  show  you  something 
more, 
He  's  a  charm  for  making  riflemen  from  mud." 
It  was  neither  Plindustani,  French,  nor  Coptics ; 

It  was  odds  and  ends  and  leavings  of  the  same. 
Translated  by  a  stick  (which  is  really  half  the  trick), 
And  Pharaoh  harked  to  Sergeant  Whatisname. 

(There  were  years  that  no  one  talked  of;  there  were  times  of 
horrid  doubt  — 
There  was  faith  and  hope  and  whacking  and  despair  — 
While  the  Sergeant  gave  the  Cautions  and  he  combed  old 
Pharaoh  out, 
And  En.fTland  did  n't  seem  to  know  nor  care. 


112  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

That  is  England's  awful  way  o'  doing  business  — 

She  would  serve  her  God  or  Gordon  just  the  same  — 

For  she  thinks  her  Empire  still  is  the  Strand  and  Hol- 
bom  Hill, 
And  she  didn't  think  of  Sergeant  Whatisname.) 

Said  England  to  the  Sergeant,  "  You  can  let  my  people  go !  " 

(England  used  'em  cheap  and  nasty  from  the  start), 
And  they  entered  'em  in  battle  on  a  most  astonished  foe  — 
But  the  Sergeant  he  had  hardened  Pharaoh's  heart. 
Which  was  broke,  along  of  all  the  plagues  of  Egypt, 

Three  thousand  years   before  the   Sergeant  came  — 
And  he  mended  it  again  in  a  little  more  than  ten. 
Till  Pharaoh  fought  like  Sergeant  Whatisname ! 

It  was  wicked  bad  campaigning  (cheap  and  nasty  from  the 
first) , 
There  was  heat  and  dust  and  coolie-work  and  sun, 
There  were  vipers,  flies,  and  sandstorms,  there  was  cholera 
and  thirst, 
But  Pharaoh  done  the  best  he  ever  done. 
j  Down  the  desert,  down  the  railway,  down  the  river, 

j  Like  Israelites  from  bondage  so  he  came, 

i  'Tween  the  clouds  o'  dust  and  fire  to  the  land  of  his  desire, 

And  his  Moses,  it  was  Sergeant  Whatisname ! 

We  are  eating  dirt  in  handfuls  for  to  save  our  daily  bread. 

Which  we  have  to  buy  from  those  that  hate  us  most, 
And  we  must  not  raise  the  money  where  the  Sergeant  raised 
the  dead, 
And  it 's  wrong  and  bad  and  dangerous  to  boast. 
But  he  did  it  on  the  cheap  and  on  the  quiet. 

And  he  's  not  allowed  to  forward  any  claim  — 
Though  he  drilled  a  black  man  white,  though  he  made  a 
mummy  fight, 
He  will  still  continue  Sergeant  Whatisname  — 
Private,  Corporal,   Colour-Sergeant,   and   Instructor  — 
But  the  everlasting  miracle  's  the  same ! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  113 

KITCHENER'S   SCHOOL 

1898 

Being  a  translation  of  the  song  that  was  made  by  a  Moham- 
medan schoolmaster  of  Bengal  Infantry  (some  time  on  service 
at  Suakim)  when  he  heard  that  Kitchener  was  taking  money 
from  the  English  to  build  a  Madrissa  for  Hubsliees  —  or  a 
college  for  the  Sudanese^  1898. 

vJh  Hubshee,  carry  your  shoes  in  your  hand  and  bow  your 

head  on  your  breast! 
This  is  the  message  of  Kitchener  who  did  not  break  you  in  jest. 
It  was  permitted  to  him  to  fulfil  the  long-appointed  years ; 
Reaching  the  end  ordained  of  old  over  your  dead  Emirs. 

He  stamped  only  before  your  walls,  and  the  Tomb  ye  knew 

was  dust: 
He  gathered  up  under  his  armpits  all  the  swords  of  your 

trust: 
He  set  a  guard  on  your  granaries,  securing  the  weak  from 

the  strong: 
He  said :  —  "  Go  work  the  waterwheels  that  were  abolished  so 

long." 

He  said :  —  "Go  safely,  being  abased.     I  have  accomplished 

my  vow." 
That  was  the  mercy  of  Kitchener.     Cometh  his  madness  now ! 
He  does  not  desire  as  ye  desire,  nor  devise  as  ye  de\dse: 
He  is  preparing  a  second  host  —  an  army  to  make  you  wise. 

Not  at  the  mouth  of  his  clean-hpped  guns   shall  ye  leam  his 

name  again, 

But  letter  by  letter,  from  Kaf  to  Kaf,  at  the  mouth  of  his 

chosen  men. 

8 


114  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

He  has  gone  back  to  his  own  city,  not  seeking  presents  or 

bribes, 
But  openly  asking  the  EngHsh  for  money  to  buy  you  Hakims 

and  scribes. 

Knowing  that  ye  are  forfeit  by  battle  and  have  no  right  to 
live, 

He  begs  for  money  to  bring  you  learning  —  and  all  the  Eng- 
lish give. 

It  is  their  treasure  —  it  is  their  pleasure  —  thus  are  their 
hearts  inclined: 

For  Allah  created  the  English  mad  —  the  maddest  of  all 
mankind ! 

They  do  not  consider  the  Meaning  of  Things ;  they  consult  not 

creed  nor  clan. 
Behold,  they  clap  the  slave  on  the  back,  and  behold,  he  ariseth 

a  man! 
They  terribly  carpet  the  earth  with  dead,  and  before  their 

cannon  cool, 
They  walk  unarmed  by  twos  and  threes  to  call  the  living  to 

school. 

How  is  this  reason  (which  is  their  reason)  to  judge  a  scholar's 

worth. 
By  casting  a  ball  at  three  straight  sticks  and  defending  the 

same  with  a  fourth? 
But  this  they  do  (which  is  doubtless  a  spell)  and  other  matters 

more  strange, 
Until,  by  the  operation  of  years,  the  hearts  of  their  scholars 

change : 

Till  these  make  come  and  go  great  boats  or  engines  upon  the 

rail 
(But  always  the  English  watch  near  by  to  prop  them  when 

they  fail)  ; 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  115 


Till  these  make  laws  of  their  own  choice  and  Judges  of  their 

own  blood ; 
And  all  the  mad  English  obey  the  Judges  and  say  that  the 

Law  is  good. 

Certainly  they  were  mad  from  of  old:    but  I  think  one  new 

thing, 
That  the  magic  whereby  they  work  their  magic  —  wherefrom 

their  fortunes  spring  — 
May  be  that  they  show  all  peoples  their  magic  and  ask  no 

price  in  return. 
Wherefore,  since  ye  are  bond  to  that  magic,  O  Hubshee,  make 

haste  and  learn ! 

Certainly   also    is   Kitchener   mad.      But   one   sure   thing   I 

know  — 
If  he  who  broke  you  be  minded  to  teach  you,  to  his  Madrissa 

go! 
Go,  and  carry  your  shoes  in  your  hand  and  bow  your  head 

on  your  breast. 
For  he  who  did  not  slay  you  in  sport,  he  will  not  teach  you 

in  jest. 


BRIDGE-GUARD  IN  THE  KARROO 

1901 

"  and  will  supply  details  to  guard  the  Blood  River  Bridge.''^ 
District  Orders  —  Lines  of  Communication.     South  African  War. 

Sudden  the  desert  changes, 
The  raw  glare  softens  and  clings. 

Till  the  aching  Oudtshoorn  ranges 
Stand  up  like  the  thrones  of  kings  — 


116  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Ramparts  of  slaughter  and  peril  — 
Blazing,   amazing,  aglow  — 

'Twixt  the  sky-line's  belting  beryl 
And  the  wine-dark  flats  below. 


Royal  the  pageant  closes, 

Lit  by  the  last  of  the  sun  — 

Opal  and  ash-of-roses. 

Cinnamon,  umber,  and  dun. 


The  twihght  swallows  the  thicket. 
The  starlight  reveals  the  ridge; 

The  whistle  shrills  to  the  picket  — 

We  are  changing  guard  on  the  bridge. 

(Few,  forgotten  and  lonely, 

Where  the  empty  metals  shine  — 

No,  not  combatants  —  only 
Details  guarding  the  line.) 

We  sHp  through  the  broken  panel 
Of  fence  by  the  ganger's  shed; 

We  drop  to  the  waterless  channel 
And  the  lean  track  overhead; 

We  stumble  on  refuse  of  rations, 
The  beef  and  the  biscuit-tins ; 

We  take  our  appointed  stations. 
And  the  endless  night  begins. 

We  hear  the  Hottentot  herders 

As  the  sheep  click  past  to  the  fold  — 

And  the  click  of  the  restless  girders 
As  the  steel  contracts  in  the  cold  — 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  117 

Voices  of  jackals  calling 

And,  loud  in  the  hush  between, 
A  morsel  of  dry  earth  falling 

From  the  flanks  of  the  scarred  ravine. 

And  the  solemn  firmament  marches, 

And  the  hosts  of  heaven  rise 
Framed  through  the  iron  arches  — 

Banded  and  barred  by  the  ties. 

Till  we  feel  the  far  track  humming, 

And  we  see  her  headhght  plain. 
And  we  gather  and  wait  her  coming  — 

The  w^onderful  north-bound  train. 

(Few,  forgotten  and  lonely, 

Where  the  white  car-windows  shine  — 
No,  not  combatants  —  only 

Details  guarding  the  line.) 

Quick,  ere  the  gift  escape  us ! 

Out  of  the  darkness  we  reach 
For  a  handful  of  week-old  papers 

And  a  mouthful  of  human  speech. 

And  the  monstrous  heaven  rejoices, 

And  the  earth  allows  again. 
Meetings,  greetings,  and  voices 

Of  women  talking  with  men. 

So  we  return  to  our  places, 

As  out  on  the  bridge  she  rolls ; 
And  the  darkness  covers  our  faces. 

And  the  darkness  re-enters  our  souls. 

More  than  a  little  lonely 

Where  the  lessening  tail-lights  shine. 
No  —  not  combatants  —  only 

Details  guarding  the  line! 


118  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

SOUTH   AFRICA 

1903 

Lived  a  woman  wonderful, 

(May  the  Lord  amend  her !) 
Neither  simple,  kind,  nor  true, 
But  her  Pagan  beauty  drew 
Christian  gentlemen  a  few 
Hotly  to  attend  her. 

Christian  gentlemen  a  few 

From  Berwick  unto  Dover; 
For  she  was  South  Africa, 
And  she  was  South  Africa, 
She  was  Our  South  Africa, 
Africa  all  overt 

Half  her  land  was  dead  with  drouth, 

Half  was  red  with  battle; 
She  was  fenced  with  fire  and  sword 
Plague  on  pestilence  outpoured. 
Locusts  on  the  greening  sward 
And  murrain  on  the  cattle! 

True,  ah  true,  and  overtru^; 

That  is  why  we  love  her! 
For  she  is  South  Africa, 
And  she  is  South  Africa, 
She  is  Our  South  Africa, 

Africa  all  over! 

Bitter  hard  her  lovers  toiled, 
Scandalous  their  payment,  — 

Food  forgot  on  trains  derailed; 

Cattle-dung  where  fuel  failed ; 

Water  where  the  mules  liad  staled ; 
And  sackcloth  for  their  raiment! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  119 

So  she  filled  their  mouths  with  dust 

And  their  bones  with  fever; 
Greeted  them  with  cruel  lies ; 
Treated  them  despiteful-wise; 
Meted  them  calamities 

Till  they  vowed  to  leave  her! 

They  took  ship  and  they  took  sail, 

Raging,  from  her  borders,  — 
In  a  Uttle,  none  the  less. 
They  forgat  their  sore  duresse. 
They  forgave  her  waywardness 

Ajid  returned  for  orders! 

They  esteemed  her  favour  more 

Than  a  Throne's  foundation. 
For  the  glory  of  her  face 
Bade  farewell  to  breed  and  race  — 
Yea,  and  made  their  burial-place 

Altar  of  a  Nation! 

Wherefore,  being  bought  by  blood, 

And  by  blood  restored 
To  the  arms  that  nearly  lost, 
She,  because  of  all  she  cost. 
Stands,  a  very  woman,  most 

Perfect  and  adored! 

On  your  feet,  and  let  them  know 

This  is  why  we  love  her! 
For  she  is  South  Africa, 
She  is  Our  South  Africa, 
Is  Our  Own  South  Africa, 

Africa  all  over! 


120  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

THE   BURIAL 

1902 
(C.  J .  Rhodes,  buried  in  the  Matoppos,  April  10,  1902) 

VV  HEN  that  great  Kings  return  to  clay, 

Or  Emperors  in  their  pride, 
Grief  of  a  day  shall  fill  a  day, 

Because  its  creature  died. 
But  we  —  we  reckon  not  with  those 

Whom  the  mere  Fates  ordain. 
This  Power  that  wrought  on  us  and  goes 

Back  to  the  Power  again. 

Dreamer  devout,  by  vision  led 

Beyond  our  guess  or  reach, 
The  travail  of  his  spirit  bred 

Cities  in  place  of  speech. 
So  huge  the  all-mastering  thought  that  drove  — 

So  brief  the  term  allowed  — 
Nations,  not  words,  he  linked  to  prove 

His  faith  before  the  crowd. 

It  is  his  will  that  he  look  forth 

Across  the  world  he  won  — 
The  granite  of  the  ancient  North  — 

Great  spaces  washed  with  sun. 
There  shall  he  patient  take  his  seat 

(As  when  the  Death  he  dared). 
And  there  await  a  people's  feet 

In  the  paths  that  he  prepared. 

There,  till  the  vision  he  foresaw 

Splendid  and  whole  arise, 
And  unimagincd  Empires  draw 

To  council  'neath  his  skies, 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  121 

The  immense  and  brooding  Spirit  still 

Shall  quicken  and  control. 
Living  he  was  the  land,  and  dead, 

His  soul  shall  be  her  soul! 


THE   SETTLER 
1903 

{Peace,  May,  1902) 

Here,  where  my  fresh-turned  furrows  run, 

And  the  deep  soil  glistens  red, 
I  will  repair  the  wrong  that  was  done 
To  the  living  and  the  dead. 
I  Here,  w^here  the  senseless  bullet  fell, 
/^     I       And  the  barren  shrapnel  burst, 
X^^  '    I  I  will  plant  a  tree,  I  will  dig  a  well, 

I       Against  the  heat  and  the  thirst. 

Here,  in  a  large  and  a  sunUt  land, 

Where  no  wrong  bites  to  the  bone, 
I  will  lay  my  hand  in  my  neighbour's  hand, 

Ajid  together  we  will  atone 
For  the  set  folly  and  the  red  breach 

And  the  black  waste  of  it  all. 
Giving  and  taking  counsel  each 

Over  the  cattle-kraal. 

Here  will  we  join  against  our  foes  — 

The  hailstroke  and  the  storm, 
And  the  red  and  rustling  cloud  that  blows 

The  locust's  mile-deep  swarm; 
Frost  and  murrain  and  floods  let  loose 

Shall  launch  us  side  by  side 
In  the  holy  wars  that  have  no  truce 

'Twixt  seed  and  harvest  tide. 


122  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Earth,  where  we  rode  to  slay  or  be  slain, 

Our  love  shall  redeem  unto  life; 
We  will  gather  and  lead  to  her  lips  again 

The  waters  of  ancient  strife, 
From  the  far  and  fiercely  guarded  streams 

And  the  pools  where  we  lay  in  wait. 
Till  the  corn  cover  our  evil  dreams 

And  the  young  com  our  hate. 


And  when  we  bring  old  fights  to  mind, 

We  will  not  remember  the  sin  — 
If  there  be  blood  on  his  head  of  my  kind. 

Or  blood  on  my  head  of  his  kin  — 
For  the  ungrazed  upland,  the  untilled  lea 

Cry,  and  the  fields  forlorn: 
"  The  dead  must  bury  their  dead,  but  ye  — 

Ye  serve  an  host  unborn." 


Bless  then,  our  God,  the  new-yoked  plough 

And  the  good  beasts  that  draw. 
And  the  bread  we  eat  in  the  sweat  of  our  brow 

According  to  Thy  Law. 
After  us  cometh  a  multitude  — 

Prosper  the  work  of  our  hands. 
That  we  may  feed  with  our  land's  food 

The  folk  of  all  our  lands! 


Here,  in  the  waves  and  the  troughs  of  the  plains, 

Where  the  healing  stillness  lies, 
And  the  vast,  benignant  sky  restrains 

And  the  long  days  make  wise  — 
Bless  to  our  use  the  rain  and  the  sun 

And  the  blind  seed  in  its  bed. 
That  we  may  repair  the  wrong  that  was  done 

To  the  living  and  the  dead ! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING 

SUSSEX 
1902 

G  OD  gave  all  men  all  earth  to  love, 

But  since  our  hearts  are  small, 
Ordained  for  each  one  spot  should  prove 

Beloved  over  all; 
That,  as  He  watched  Creation's  birth, 

So  we,  in  godlike  mood. 
May  of  our  love  create  our  earth 

And  see  that  it  is  good. 

So  one  shall  Baltic  pines  content. 

As  one  some  Surrey  glade. 
Or  one  the  palm-grove's  droned  lament 

Before  Levuka's  Trade. 
Each  to  his  choice,  and  I  rejoice 

The  lot  has  fallen  to  me 
In  a  fair  ground  —  in  a  fair  ground  — 

Yea,  Sussex  by  the  sea! 

No  tender-hearted  garden  crowns. 

No  bosomed  woods  adorn 
Our  blunt,  bow-headed,  whale-backed  Downs, 

But  gnarled  and  writhen  thorn  —  ^ 
Bare  slopes  where  chasing  shadows  skim, 

And  through  the  gaps  revealed 
Belt  upon  belt,  the  wooded,  dim 

Blue  goodness  of  the  Weald. 

Clean  of  officious  fence  or  hedge, 

Half-wild  and  wholly  tame. 
The  wise  turf  cloaks  the  white  chff  edge 

As  when  the  Romans  came. 


128 


124  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

What  sign  of  those  that  fought  and  died 
At  shift  of  sword  and  sword? 

The  barrow  and  the  camp  abide, 
The  sunlight  and  the  sward. 

Here  leaps  ashore  the  full  Sou'west 

All  heavy-winged  with  brine, 
Here  Hes  above  the  folded  crest 

The  Channel's  leaden  hne ; 
And  here  the  sea-fogs  lap  and  cling, 

And  here,  each  warning  each, 
The  sheep-bells  and  the  ship-bells  ring 

Along  the  hidden  beach. 

We  have  no  waters  to  delight 

Our  broad  and  brookless  vales  — 
Only  the  dewpond  on  the  height 

Unfed,  that  never  fails. 
Whereby  no  tattered  herbage  tells 

Which  way  the  season  flies  — 
Only  our  close-bit  thyme  that  smells 

Like  dawn  in  Paradise. 

Here  through  the  strong  and  shadeless  days 

The  tinkling  silence  thrills ; 
Or  little,  lost,  Down  churches  praise 

The  Lord  who  made  the  hills: 
But  here  the  Old  Gods  guard  their  round. 

And,  in  her  secret  heart. 
The  heathen  kingdom  Wilfrid  found 

Dreams,  as  she  dwells,  apart. 

Though  all  the  rest  were  all  my  share. 

With  equal  soul  I  'd  see 
Her  nine-and-thirty  sisters  fair. 

Yet  none  more  fair  than  she. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  125 

Choose  ye  your  need  from  Thames  to  Tweed, 

And  I  will  choose  instead 
Such  lands  as  lie  'twixt  Rake  and  Rye, 

Black  Down  and  Beachy  Head. 

I  will  go  out  against  the  sun 

Where  the  rolled  scarp  retires, 
And  the  Long  Man  of  Wilmington 

Looks  naked  toward  the  shires ; 
And  east  till  doubhng  Rother  crawls 

To  find  the  fickle  tide, 
By   dry   and   sea-forgotten   walls, 

Our  ports  of  stranded  pride. 

I  will  go  north  about  the  shaws 

And  the  deep  ghylls  that  breed 
Huge  oaks  and  old,  the  which  we  hold 

No  more  than  Sussex  weed; 
Or  south  where  windy  Piddinghoe's 

Begilded  dolphin  veers 
And  red  beside  wide-banked  Ouse 

Lie  down  our  Sussex  steers. 

So  to  the  land  our  hearts  we  give 

Till  the  sure  magic  strike, 
And  Memory,  Use,  and  Love  make  live 

Us  and  our  fields  ahke  — 
That  deeper  than  our  speech  and  thought, 

Beyond  our  reason's  sway. 
Clay  of  the  pit  whence  we  were  wrought 

Yearns  to  its  fellow-clay. 

God  gives  all  men  all  earth  to  love. 

But  since  man's  heart  is  small. 
Ordains  for  each  one  spot  shall  prove 

Beloved  over  all. 


126  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Each  to  his  choice ^  and  I  rejoice 

The  lot  has  fallen  to  me 
In  a  fair  ground  —  in  a  fair  ground  — 

Yea,  Sussex  by  the  sea! 


DIRGE  OF    DEAD   SISTERS 

1902 
(For  the  nurses  who  died  in  the  South  African  war) 

VV  HO  recalls  the  twilight  and  the  ranged  tents  in  order 
(Violet  peaks  uplifted  through  the  crystal  evening  air?) 

And  the  chnk  of  iron  teacups  and  the  piteous,  noble  laughter, 
And  the  faces  of  the  Sisters  with  the  dust  upon  their  hair? 

(Now  and  not  hereafter,  while  the  breath  is  in  our  nostrils, 
Now  and  not  hereafter,  ere  the  meaner  years  go  by  — 

Let  us  now  remember  many  honourable  women, 

Such  as  bade  us  turn  again  when  we  were  like  to  die.) 

Who  recalls  the  morning  and  the  thunder  through  the  foot- 
hills 
(Tufts  of  fleecy  shrapnel  strung  along  the  empty  plains?) 
And  the  sun-scarred  Red-Cross  coaches  creeping  guarded  to 
the  culvert. 
And  the  faces  of  the  Sisters  looking  gravely  from  the  trains? 

(When  the  days  were  torment  and  the  nights  were  clouded 
terror, 
When  the  Powers  of  Darkness  had  dominion  on  our  soul  — 
When  we  fled  consuming  through  tlie  Seven  Hells  of  fever, 
These  put  out  their  hands  to  us  and  healed  and  made  us 
whole. ) 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  127 

Who  recalls  the  midnight  by  the  bridge's  wrecked  abutment 
(Autumn  rain  that  rattled  hke  a  Maxim  on  the  tin?) 

And  the  lightning-dazzled  levels  and  the  streaming,  straining 
wagons, 
And  the  faces  of  the  Sisters  as  they  bore  the  wounded  in? 

(Till  the  pain  was  merciful  and  stunned  us  into  silence  — 
When  each  nerve  cried  out  on  God  that  made  the  misused 
clay; 
When   the    Body    triumphed    and   the   last   poor    shame    de- 
parted — 
These  abode  our  agonies  and  wiped  the  sweat  away.) 

Who  recalls  the  noontide  and  the  funerals  through  the  market 
(Blanket-hidden  bodies,  flagless,  followed  by  the  flies?) 

And  the  footsore  firing-party,  and  the  dust  and  stench  and 
staleness. 
And  the  faces  of  the  Sisters  and  the  glory  in  their  eyes? 

(Bold  behind  the  battle,  in  the  open  camp  all-hallowed, 
Patient,  wise,  and  mirthful  in  the  ringed  and  reeking  town, 

These  endured  unresting  till  they  rested  from  their  labours  — 
Little  wasted  bodies,  ah,  so  hght  to  lower  down !) 

Yet  their  graves  are  scattered  and  their  names  are  clean  for- 
gotten. 

Earth  shall  not  remember,  but  the  Waiting  Angel  knows 
Them  that  died  at  Uitvlugt  when  the  plague  was  on  the  city — 

Her  that  fell  at  Simon's  Town  in  service  on  our  foes. 

Wherefore  we  they  ransomed,   while   th-e  breath   is   in  our 
nostrils^ 

Now  and  not  hereafter,  ere  the  meaner  years  go  hy. 
Praise  with  love  and  worship  many  honourable  women. 

Those  that  gave  their  lives  for  us  when  we  were  like  to  die! 


128  COLLECTED     VERSE     01! 

THE  ENGLISH  FLAG 

1891 

Above  the  portico  a  flag-staff  hearing  the  Union  Jack, 

remained  fluttering  in  the  flames  for  some  time,  hut  idtvmately 

when  it  fell  the  crowds  rent  the  air  with  shouts,  and  seemed 

to  see  significance  in  the  incident. 

Daily  Papebs. 

W INDS  of  the  World,  give  answer !  They  are  whim- 
pering to  and  fro  — 

And  what  should  they  know  of  England  who  only  England 
know  ?  — 

The  poor  Httle  street-bred  people  that  vapour  and  fume  and 
brag, 

They  are  Kfting  their  heads  in  the  stillness  to  yelp  at  the 
English  Flag ! 

Must  we  borrow  a  clout  from  the  Boer  —  to  plaster  anew  with 

dirt? 
An  Irish  liar's  bandage,  or  an  English  coward's  shirt? 
We  may  not  speak  of  England ;   her  Flag  's  to  sell  or  share. 
What  is  the  Flag  of  England?    Winds  of  the  World,  declare ! 

The  North  Wind  blew :  —  "  From  Bergen  my  steel-shod  van- 
guards go; 

"  I  chase  your  lazy  whalers  home  from  the  Disko  floe ; 

"  By  the  great  North  Lights  above  me  I  work  the  will  of  God, 

"  And  the  liner  splits  on  the  ice-field  or  the  Dogger  fills  with 
cod. 

"  I  barred  my  gates  with  iron,  I  shuttered  my  doors  with 

flame, 
"  Because  to  force  my  ramparts  your  nutshell  navies  came ; 
"  I  took  the  sun  from  their  presence,  I  cut  them  down  with 

my  blast, 
"  And  they  died,  but  the  Flag  of  England  blew  free  ere  the 

spirit  passed. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  129 

"  The  lean  white  bear  hath  seen  it  in  the  long,  long  Arctic 

night, 
"  The  musk-ox  knows  the  standard  that  flouts  the  Northern 

Light : 
"What  is  the  Flag  of  England?     Ye  have  but  my  bergs  to 

dare, 
"  Ye  have  but  my  drifts  to  conquer.   Go  forth,  for  it  is  there !  " 

The  South  Wind  sighed :  —  "  From  the  Virgins  my  mid-sea 

course  was  ta'en 
"  Over  a  thousand  islands  lost  in  an  idle  main, 
"  Where  the  sea-egg  flames  on  the  coral  and  the  long-backed 

breakers  croon 
"  Their  endless  ocean  legends  to  the  lazy,  locked  lagoon. 

"  Strayed  amid  lonely  islets,  mazed  amid  outer  keys, 

"  I  waked  the  palms  to  laughter  —  I  tossed  the  scud  in  the 

breeze  — 
"  Never  was  isle  so  Httle,  never  was  sea  so  lone, 
"  But  over  the  scud  and  the  palm-trees  an  English  flag  was 

flown. 

"  I  have  wrenched  it  free  from  the  halliards  to  hang  for  a 

wisp  on  the  Horn ; 
"  I  have  chased  it  north  to  the  Lizard  —  ribboned  and  rolled 

and  torn ; 
"  I  have  spread  its  fold  o'er  the  dying,  adrift  in  a  hopeless 

sea; 
"  I  have  hurled  it  swift  on  the  slaver,  and  seen  the  slave  set 

free. 

"  My  basking  sunfish  know  it,  and  wheeling  albatross, 

"  Where  the  lone  wave  fills  with  fire  beneath  the  Southern 

Cross. 
"  What  is  the  Flag  of  England  ?     Ye  have  but  my  reefs  to 

dare, 
"  Ye  have  but  my  seas  to  furrow.    Go  forth,  for  it  is  there !  " 

9 


130  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

The  East  Wind  roared :  —  "  From  the  Kuriles,  the  Bitter 

Seas,  I  come, 
"  And  me  men  call  the  Home-Wind,  for  I  bring  the  Enghsh 

home. 
"  Look  —   look  well  to  your  shipping !    By  the  breath  of  my 

mad  typhoon 
"  I  swept  your  close-packed  Praya  and  beached  your  best  at 

Kowloon ! 


"  The  reeling  junks  behind  me  and  the  racing  seas  before, 
"  I  raped  your  richest  roadstead  —  I  plundered  Singapore ! 
"  I  set  my  hand  on  the  Hoogli ;   as  a  hooded  snake  she  rose, 
"  And   I   flung   your   stoutest    steamers   to   roost   with   the 
startled  crows. 


"  Never  the  lotos  closes,  never  the  wild-fowl  wake, 
"  But  a  soul  goes  out  on  the  East  Wind  that  died  for  Eng- 
land's sake  — 
"  Man  or  woman  or  suckHng,  mother  or  bride  or  maid  — 
"  Because  on  the  bones  of  the  English  the  English  Flag  is 
stayed. 

"  The  desert-dust  hath  dimmed  it,  the  flying  wild-ass  knows, 
"  The   scared   white   leopard   winds   it   across    the   taintless 

snows. 
"  What  is  the  Flag  of  England?    Ye  have  but  my  sun  to  dare, 
"  Ye  have  but  my  sands  to  travel.    Go  forth,  for  it  is  there !  " 

The  West  Wind   called :  —  "In   squadrons   the  thoughtless 

galleons  fly 
"  That  bear  the  wheat  and  cattle  lest  street-bred  people  die. 
"  They  make  my  might  their  porter,  they  make  my  house  their 

path, 
"  Till  I  loose  my  neck  from  their  rudder  and  whelm  them  all 

in  my  wrath. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  131 

"  I  draw  the  gliding  fog-bank  as  a  snake  is  drawn  from  the 

hole, 
"  They  bellow  one  to  the  other,  the  frighted  ship-bells  toll, 
"  For  day  is  a  drifting  terror  till  I  raise  the  shroud  with  my 

breath, 
"  And  they   see  strange  bows  above  them  and  the   two   go 

locked  to  death. 

"  But  whether  in  calm  or  wrack-wreath,  whether  by  dark  or 

day, 
"  I  heave  them  whole  to  the  conger  or  rip  their  plates  away, 
"  First  of  the  scattered  legions,  under  a  shrieking  sky, 
"  Dipping  between  the  rollers,  the  English  Flag  goes  by. 

"  The  dead  dumb  fog  hath  wrapped  it  —  the  frozen  dews 

have  kissed  — 
"  The  naked  stars  have  seen  it,  a  fellow-star  in  the  mist. 
"  What  is  the  Flag  of  England.?    Ye  have  but  my  breath  to 

dare, 
"  Ye  have  but  my  waves  to  conquer.     Go  forth,  for  it  is 

there!" 


WHEN  EARTH'S  LAST  PICTURE  IS 
PAINTED 

1892 

/    When  Earth's  last  picture  is  painted  and  the  tubes  are 

i  twisted  and  dried, 

1    When  the  oldest  colours  have  faded,  and  the  youngest  critic 

has  died, 
;    We  shall  rest,  and,  faith,  we  shall  need  it  —  He  down  for  an 

aeon  or  two. 
Till  the  Master  of  All  Good  Workmen  shall  put  us  to  work 

anew. 


132  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

And  those  that  were  good  shall  be  happy :   they  shall  sit  in  a 

golden  chair ; 
They  shall   splash  at   a  ten-league  canvas  with  brushes   of 

comets'  hair ; 
They  shall  find  real  saints  to  draw  from  —  Magdalene,  Peter, 

and  Paul ; 
They  shall  work  for  an  age  at  a  sitting  and  never  be  tired  at 

aU! 

And  only  the  Master  shall  praise  us,  and  only  the  Master 

shall  blame ; 
And  no  one  shall  work  for  money,  and  no  one  shall  work  for 

fame. 
But  each  for  the  joy  of  the  working,  and  each,  in  his  separate 

star, 
Shall  draw  the  Thing  as  he  sees  It  for  the  God  of  Things  as 

They  are!  "^~ 


"  CLEARED  " 
1890 

(In  memory  of  the  Parnell  Commission) 

11  ELP  for  a  patriot  distressed,  a  spotless  spirit  hurt, 
Help  for  an  honourable  clan  sore  trampled  in  the  dirt ! 
From  Queenstown  Bay  to  Donegal,  Oh  listen  to  my  song, 
The  honourable  gentlemen  have  suffered  grievous  wrong. 

Their  noble  names  were  mentioned  —  Oh  the  burning  black 

disgrace !  — 
By  a  brutal  Saxon  paper  in  an  Irish  shooting-case ; 
They  sat  upon  it  for  a  year,  then  steeled  their  heart  to  brave 

it,  ^ 

And  "  coruscating  innocence  "  the  learned  Judges  gave  it. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  133 

Bear  witness,  Heaven,  of  that  grim  crime  beneath  the  sur- 
geon's knife, 

The  honourable  gentlemen  deplored  the  loss  of  life ! 

Bear  witness  of  those  chanting  choirs  that  burk  and  shirk  and 
snigger. 

No  man  laid  hand  upon  the  knife  or  finger  to  the  trigger ! 

Cleared  in  the  face  of  all  mankind  beneath  the  winking  skies, 
Like  phoenixes  from  Phcenix  Park  (and  what  lay  there)  they 

rise! 
Go  shout  it  to  the  emerald  seas  —  give  word  to  Erin  now. 
Her  honourable  gentlemen  are  cleared  —  and  this  is  how :  — 

They  only  paid  the  Moonlighter  his  cattle-hocking  price, 
They  only  helped  the  murderer  with  counsel's  best  ad\ice, 
But  —  sure  it  keeps  their  honour  white  —  the  learned  Court 

believes 
They  never  give  a  piece  of  plate  to  murderers  and  thieves. 

They  never  told  the  ramping  crowd  to  card  a  woman's  hide. 
They  never  marked  a  man  for  death  —  what  fault  of  theirs 

he  died  ?  — 
They  only  said  "  intimidate,"  and  talked  and  went  away  — 
By  God,  the  boys  that  did  the  work  were  braver  men  than 

they! 

Their  sin  it  was  that  fed  the  fire  —  small  blame  to  them  that 

heard  — 
The  boys  get  drunk  on  rhetoric,  and  madden  at  a  word  — 
They  knew  whom  they  were  talking  at,  if  they  were  Irish  too. 
The  gentlemen  that  lied  in  Court,  they  knew,  and  well  they 

knew. 

They  only  took  the  Judas-gold  from  Fenians  out  of  jail, 
They  only  fawned  for  dollars  on  the  blood-dyed  Clan-na-Gael. 
If  black  is  black  or  white  is  white,  in  black  and  white  it 's 

down. 
They  're  only  traitors  to  the  Queen  and  rebels  to  the  Crown. 


134  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

"  Cleared,"    honourable    gentlemen !      Be    thankful    it 's    no 

more :  — 
The  widow's  curse  is  on  your  house,  the  dead  are  at  your 

door. 
On  you  the  shame  of  open  shame,  on  you  from  North  to 

South 
The  hand  of  every  honest  man  flat-heeled  across  your  mouth. 

"  Less  black  than  we  were  painted"  ^  —  Faith,  no  word  of 

black  was  said ; 
The  lightest  touch  was  human  blood,  and  that,  you  know, 

runs  red. 
It 's  sticking  to  your  fist  to-day  for  all  your  sneer  and  scoff, 
And  by  the  Judge's  well-weighed  word  you  cannot  wipe  it  off. 

Hold  up  those  hands  of  innocence  —  go,  scare  your  sheep 
together, 

The  blundering,  tripping  tups  that  bleat  behind  the  old  bell- 
wether ; 

And  if  they  snuff  the  taint  and  break  to  find  another  pen, 

Tell  them  it 's  tar  that  glistens  so,  and  daub  them  yours 


again ! 


"  The   charge   is   old  "  ?  —  As   old   as    Cain  —  as    fresh   as 

yesterday ; 
Old  as  the  Ten  Commandments  —  have  ye  talked  those  laws 

away  ^ 
If  words  are  words,  or  death  is  death,  or  powder  sends  the 

ball, 
You  spoke  the  words  that  sped  the  shot  —  the  curse  be  on 

you  all. 

"Our  friends  believe"?  Of  course  they  do  —  as  sheltered 
women  may; 

But  have  they  seen  the  shrieking  soul  ripped  from  the  quiver- 
ing clay? 


R  U  D  Y  A  II  D     KIPLING  135 

Xhey! I^  their  own  front  door  is  shut,  they'll  swear  the 

whole  world  's  warm  ; 
What  do  they  know  of  dread  of  death  or  hanging  fear  of 

harm? 

The  secret  half  a  county  keeps,  the  whisper  in  the  lane, 
The  shriek  that  tells  the  shot  went  home  behind  the  broken 

pane. 
The  dry  blood  crisping  in  the  sun  that  scares  the  honest  bees, 
And  shows  the  boys  have  heard  your  talk  —  what  do  they 

know  of  these? 

But  you  —  you  know  —  ay,  ten  times  more;    the  secrets  of 

the  dead, 
Black  terror  on  the  country-side  by  word  and  whisper  bred. 
The   mangled   stalhon's    scream   at   night,   the   tail-cropped 

heifer's  low. 
Who  set  the  whisper  going  first?     You  know,  and  well  you 

know! 

My  soul !  I  'd  sooner  lie  in  jail  for  murder  plain  and  straight, 
Pure  crime  I  'd  done  with  my  own  hand  for  money,  lust,  or 

hate. 
Than  take  a  seat  in  Parliament  by  fellow-felons  cheered, 
While  one  of  those  "  not  provens  "  proved  me  cleared  as  you 

are  cleared. 

Cleared  — you    that    "lost"    the    League    accounts  —  go, 

guard  our  honour  still. 
Go,  help  to  make  our  country's  laws  that  broke  God's  law 

at  will  —  1    u       -1 

One   hand   stuck   out   behind   the   back,    to    signal       strike 

again  " ;  . 

The  other  on  your  dress-shirt-front  to  show  your  heart  is 

clane. 


136  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

If  black  is  black  or  white  is  white,  in  black  and  white  it 's 

down, 
You  're  only  traitors  to  the  Queen  and  rebels  to  the  Crown. 
If  print   is   print   or   words   are   words,   the   learned  Court 

perpends :  — 
We  are  not  ruled  by  murderers,  but  only  —  by  their  friends. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  EAST  AND  WEST 

1889 

%^H,  East  is  East,  and  West  is  West,  and  never  the  txvain 

shall  meet. 
Till  Earth  and  Sky  stand  presently  at  God's  great  Judgment 

Seat; 
But  there  is  neither  East  nor  West,  Border,  nor  Breed,  nor 

Birth, 
When  two  strong  rnen  stand  face  to  face,  tho"*  they  come  from 

the  ends  of  the  earth! 

Kamal  is  out  with  twenty  men  to  raise  the  Borderside, 

And  he  has  lifted  the  Colonel's  mare  that  is  the  Colonel's  pride: 

He  has  lifted  her  out  of  the  stable-door  between  the  dawn  and 

the  day. 
And  turned  the  calkins  upon  her  feet,  and  ridden  her  far  away. 
Then  up  and  spoke  the  Colonel's  son  that  led  a  troop  of  the 

Guides : 
"  Is  there  never  a  man  of  all  my  men  can  say  where  Kamal 

hides?" 
Then    up    and    spoke    Mohammed    Khan,    the    son    of    the 

Ressaldar: 
"  If  ye  know  the  track  of  the  morning-mist,  yQ  know  where 

his  pickets  are. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  137 

"  At    dusk    he    harries    the    Abazai  —  at    dawn    he    is    into 

Bonair, 
"  But  he  must  go  by  Fort  Bukloh  to  his  own  place  to  fare, 
"  So  if  ye  gallop  to  Fort  Bukloh  as  fast  as  a  bird  can  fly, 
"  By  the  favour  of  God  ye  may  cut  him  off  ere  he  win  to  the 

Tongue  of  Jagai. 
"  But  if  he  be  past  the  Tongue  of  Jagai,  right  swiftly  turn 

ye  then, 
"  For  the  length  and  the  breadth  of  that  grisly  plain  is  sown 

with  Kamal's  men. 
"  There  is  rock  to  the  left,  and  rock  to  the  right,  and  low  lean 

thorn  between, 
"  And  ye  may  hear  a  breech-bolt  snick  where  never  a  man  is 

seen." 
The  Colonel's  son  has  taken  a  horse,  and  a  raw  rough  dun 

was  he, 
With  the  mouth  of  a  bell  and  the  heart  of  Hell  and  the  head 

of  a  gallows-tree. 
The  Colonel's  son  to  the  Fort  has  won,  they  bid  him  stay  to 

eat  — 
Who  rides  at  the  tail  of  a  Border  thief,  he  sits  not  long  at  his 

meat. 
He  's  up  and  away  from  Fort  Bukloh  as  fast  as  he  can  fly. 
Till  he  was   aware  of  his  father's  mare  in  the  gut  of  the 

Tongue  of  Jagai, 
Till  he  was  aware  of  his  father's  mare  with  Kamal  upon  her 

back. 
And  when  he  could  spy  the  white  of  her  eye,  he  made  the  pistol 

crack. 
He  has  fired  once,  he  has  fired  twice,  but  the  wliistling  ball 

went  wide. 
"  Ye  shoot  like  a  soldier,"  Kamal  said.     "  Show  now  if  ye 

can  ride." 
It 's  up  and  over  the  Tongue  of  Jagai,  as  blown  dust-devils 

go, 
The  dun  he  fled  like  a  stag  of  ten,  but  the  mare  like  a  barren 
doe. 


138  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

The  dan  he  leaned  against  the  bit  and  slugged  his  head  above, 
But  the  red  mare  played  with  the  snaffle-bars,  as  a  maiden 

plays  with  a  glove. 
There  was  rock  to  the  left  and  rock  to  the  right,  and  low  lean 

thorn  between. 
And  thrice  he  heard  a  breech-bolt  snick  tho'  never  a  man  was 

seen. 
They  have  ridden  the  low  moon  out  of  the  sky,  their  hoofs 

drum  up  the  dawn, 
The  dun  he  went  like  a  wounded  bull,  but  the  mare  Hke  a  new- 
roused  fawn. 
The  dun  he  fell  at  a  water-course  —  in  a  woeful  heap  fell  he, 
And  Kamal  has  turned  the  red  mare  back,  and  pulled  the  rider 

free. 
He  has  knocked  the  pistol  out  of  his  hand  —  small  room  was 

there  to  strive, 
"  'T  was  only  by  favour  of  mine,"  quoth  he,  "  ye  rode  so  long 

alive: 
"  There  was  not  a  rock  for  twenty  mile,  there  was  not  a  clump 

of  tree, 
"  But  covered  a  man  of  my  own  men  with  his  rifle  cocked  on  his 

knee. 
"  If  I  had  raised  my  bridle-hand,  as  I  have  held  it  low, 
"  The  little  jackals  that  flee  so  fast  were  feasting  all  in  a 

row: 
"  If  I  had  bowed  my  head  on  my  breast,  as  I  have  held  it 

high, 
"  The  kite  that  whistles  above  us  now  were  gorged  till  she 

could  not  fly." 
Lightly  answered  the  Colonel's  son :    "  Do  good  to  bird  and 

beast, 
"  But  count  who  come  for  the  broken  meats  before  thou  makest 

a  feast. 
"  If  there  should  follow  a  thousand  swords  to  carry  my  bones 

away, 
"  Belike  the  price  of  a  jackal's  meal  were  more  than  a  thief 

could  pay. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  139 

"  They  will  feed  their  horse  on  the  standing  crop,  their  men 

on  the  garnered  grain, 
"  The  thatch  of  the  byres  will  serve  their  fires  when  all  the 

cattle  are  slain. 
"  But  if  thou  thinkest  the  price  be  fair,  —  thy  brethren  wait 

to  sup, 
"The  hound  is  kin  to  the  jackal-spawn,  —  howl,  dog,  and 

call  them  up ! 
"  And  if  thou  thinkest  the  price  be  high,  in  steer  and  gear  and 

stack, 
"  Give  me  my  father's  mare  again,  and  I  '11  fight  my  own  way 

back!" 
Kamal  has  gripped  him  by  the  hand  and  set  him  upon  his 

feet. 
"  No  talk  shall  be  of  dogs,"  said  he,  "  when  wolf  and  grey 

wolf  meet. 
"  IMay  I  eat  dirt  if  thou  hast  hurt  of  me  in  deed  or  breath ; 
"  What  dam  of  lances  brought  thee  forth  to  jest  at  the  dawn 

with  Death.?  " 
Lightly  answered  the  Colonel's  son :   "  I  hold  by  the  blood  of 

my  clan: 
"  Take  up  the  mare  for  my  father's  gift  —  by  God,  she  has 

carried  a  man  !  " 
The  red  mare  ran  to  the  Colonel's  son,  and  nuzzled  against 

his  breast; 
"  We  be  two  strong  men,"  said  Kamal  then,  "  but  she  loveth 

the  younger  best. 
"  So  she  shall  go  with  a  lifter's  dower,  my  turquoise-studded 

rein, 
"  My  broidered  saddle  and  saddle-cloth,  and  silver  stirrups 

twain." 
The  Colonel's  son  a  pistol  drew,  and  held  it  muzzle-end, 
"  Ye  have  taken  the  one  from  a  foe,"  said  he ;    "  will  ye  take 

the  mate  from  a  friend.'^  " 
"  A  gift  for  a  gift,"  said  Kamal  straight ;     "  a  hmb  for  the 

risk  of  a  limb. 
"  Thy  father  has  sent  his  son  to  me,  I  '11  send  my  son  to  him !  " 


140  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

With  that  he  whistled  his  only   son,   that  dropped  from  a 

mountain-crest  — 
He  trod  the  ling  like  a  buck  in  spring,  and  he  looked  like  a 

lance  in  rest. 
"  Now  here  is  thy  master,"  Kamal  said,  "  who  leads  a  troop  of 

the  Guides, 
"  And  thou  must  ride  at  his  left  side  as  shield  on  shoulder 

rides. 
"  Till  Death  or  I  cut  lose  the  tie,  at  camp  and  board  and  bed, 
"  Thy  life  is  his  —  thy  fate  it  is  to  guard  him  with  thy  head. 
"  So,  thou  must  eat  the  White  Queen's  meat,  and  all  her  foes 

are  thine, 
"  And  thou  must  harry  thy  father's  hold  for  the  peace  of  the 

Border-line, 
"  And  thou  must  make  a  trooper  tough  and  hack  thy  way  to 

power  — 
"  Belike  they  will  raise  thee  to  Ressaldar  when  I  am  hanged  in 

Peshawur." 

They  have  looked  each  other  between  the  eyes,  and  there  they 

found  no  fault. 
They  have  taken  the  Oath  of  the  Brother-in-Blood  on  leavened 

bread  and  salt: 
They  have  taken  the  Oath  of  the  Brother-in-Blood  on  fire  and 

fresh-cut  sod, 
On  the  hilt  and  the  haft  of  the  Khyber  knife,  and  the  Won- 
drous Names  of  God. 
The  Colonel's  son  he  rides  the  mare  and  Kamal's  boy  the  dun, 
And  two  have  come  back  to  Fort  Bukloh  where  there  went 

forth  but  one. 
And    when    they    drew    to    the    Quarter-Guard,    full    twenty 

swords  flew  clear  — 
There  was  not  a  man  but  carried  his  feud  with  the  blood  of  the 

mountaineer. 
"  Ha'  done  !   ha'  done !  "   said  the  Colonel's  son.    "  Put  up  the 

steel  at  your  sides ! 
"  Last  night  ye  had  struck  at  a  Border  thief  —  to-night  't  is 

a  man  of  the  Guides  !  " 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  141 

0/t,  East  IS  Easty  and  West  is  West,  and  never  the  twain  shall 

mecty 
Till  Earth  and  Sky  stand  presently  at  God's  great  Judgment 

Seat; 
But  there  is  neither  East  nor  West,  Border,  nor  Breed,  nor 

Birth, 
When  two  strong  men  stand  face  to  face,  tho'  they  come  from 

the  ends  of  the  earth! 


THE    LAST    SUTTEE 

1889 

Not  many  years  ago  a  King  died  in  one  of  the  Rajpoot 
States.  His  wives,  disregarding  the  orders  of  the  English 
against  Suttee,  would  have  hrohen  out  of  the  palace  and 
burned  themselves  with  the  corpse  had  not  the  gates  been 
barred.  But  one  of  them,  disguised  as  the  King's  favourite 
dancing-girl,  passed  through  the  line  of  guards  and  reached 
the  pyre*  There,  her  courage  failing,  she  prayed  her  cousin, 
a  baron  of  the  court,  to  kill  her.  This  he  did,  not  knowing 
who  she  was. 

UdAI  CHAND  lay  sick  to  death 

In  his  hold  by  Giingra  hill. 
All  night  we  heard  the  death-gongs  ring 
For  the  soul  of  the  dying  Rajpoot  King, 
All  night  beat  up  from  the  women's  wing 

A  cry  that  we  could  not  still. 

All  night  the  barons  came  and  went, 

The  Lords  of  the  Outer  Guard: 
All  night  the  cressets  glimmered  pale 
On  Ulwar  sabre  and  Tonk  jezail, 
Mewar  headstall  and  Marwar  mail, 

That  clinked  in  the  palace  yard. 


142  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

In  the  Golden  Room  on  the  palace  roof 

All  night  he  fought  for  air: 
And  there  were  sobbings  behind  the  screen, 
Rustle  and  whisper  of  women  unseen, 
And  the  hungry  eyes  of  the  Boondi  Queen 

On  the  death  she  might  not  share. 


He  passed  at  dawn  —  the  death-fire  leaped 

From  ridge  to  river-head, 
From  the  Malwa  plains  to  the  Abu  scars: 
And  wail  upon  wail  went  up  to  the  stars 
Behind  the  grim  zenana-bars. 

When  they  knew  that  the  King  was  dead. 


The  dumb  priest  knelt  to  tie  his  mouth 

And  robe  him  for  the  pyre. 
The  Boondi  Queen  beneath  us  cried: 
"  See,  now,  that  we  die  as  our  mothers  died 
"  In  the  bridal-bed  by  our  master's  side ! 

"  Out,  women  !  —  to  the  fire !  " 


We  drove  the  great  gates  home  apace: 

White  hands  were  on  the  sill: 
But  ere  the  rush  of  the  unseen  feet 
Had  reached  the  turn  to  the  open  street, 
The  bars  shot  down,  the  guard-dinim  beat  — 

We  held  the  dovecot  still. 


A  face  looked  down  in  the  gathering  day. 
And  laughing  spoke  from  the  wall: 

"  Ohe,  they  mourn  here :   let  me  by  — 

"  Azizun,  the  Lucknow  nautch-girl,  I ! 

"  When  the  house  is  rotten,  the  rats  must  fly, 
"  And  I  seek  another  thrall. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  14S 

"  For  I  ruled  the  King  as  ne'er  did  Queen,  — 

"  To-night  the  Queens  rule  me ! 
"  Guard  them  safely,  but  let  me  go, 
"  Or  ever  they  pay  the  debt  they  owe 
"  In  scourge  and  torture !  "     She  leaped  below, 

And  the  grim  guard  watched  her  flee. 

I  They  knew  that  the  King  had  spent  his  soul 

\      On  a  North-bred  dancing-girl: 
That  he  prayed  to  a  flat-nosed  Lucknow  god. 
And  kissed  the  ground  where  her  feet  had  trod. 
And  doomed  to  death  at  her  drunken  nod. 
And  swore  by  her  lightest  curl. 


We  bore  the  King  to  his  fathers'  place, 
Where  the  tombs  of  the  Sun-born  stand: 

Where  the  grey  apes  swing,  and  the  peacocks  preen 

On  fretted  pillar  and  jewelled  screen, 

And  the  wild  boar  couch  in  the  house  of  the  Queen 
On  the  drift  of  the  desert  sand. 


The  herald  read  his  titles  forth. 

We  set  the  logs  aglow : 
"  Friend  of  the  English,  free  from  fear, 
"  Baron  of  Luni  to  Jeysulmeer, 
"  Lord  of  the  Desert  of  Bikaneer, 

"  King  of  the  Jungle,  —  go  !  " 

All  night  the  red  flame  stabbed  the  sky 

With  wavering  wind-tossed  spears: 
And  out  of  a  shattered  temple  crept 
A  woman  who  veiled  her  head  and  wept. 
And  called  on  the  King  —  but  the  great  King  slept, 

And  turned  not  for  her  tears. 


144  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

One  watched,  a  bow-shot  from  the  blaze, 

The  silent  streets  between, 
Who  had  stood  by  the  King  in  sport  and  fray, 
To  blade  in  ambush  or  boar  at  bay, 
And  he  was  a  baron  old  and  grey, 

And  kin  to  the  Boondi  Queen. 


Small  thought  had  he  to  mark  the  strife  — 

Cold  fear  with  hot  desire  — 
When  thrice  she  leaped  from  the  leaping  flame, 
And  thrice  she  beat  her  breast  for  shame, 
And  thrice  like  a  wounded  dove  she  came 

And  moaned  about  the  fire. 


He  said :   "  O  shameless,  put  aside 

"  The  veil  upon  thy  brow ! 
"  Who  held  the  King  and  all  his  land 
"  To  the  wanton  will  of  a  harlot's  hand ! 
"Will  the  white  ash  rise  from  the  blistered  brand? 

"  Stoop  down,  and  call  him  now !  " 


Then  she :    "  By  the  faith  of  my  tarnished  soul, 

"  All  things  I  did  not  well, 
"  I  had  hoped  to  clear  ere  the  fire  died, 
"  And  lay  me  down  by  my  master's  side 
"  To  rule  in  Heaven  his  only  bride, 

"  While  the  others  howl  in  Hell. 


"  But  I  have  felt  the  fire's  breath, 

"  And  hard  it  is  to  die ! 
"  Yet  if  I  may  pray  a  Rajpoot  lord 
"  To  sully  the  steel  of  a  Thakur's  sword 
"  With  base-born  blood  of  a  trade  abhorred,"  — 

And  the  Thakur  answered,  "  Ay." 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  145 

He  drew  and  struck :    the  stralglit  blade  drank 

The  life  beneath  the  breast. 
"  I  had  looked  for  the  Queen  to  face  the  flame, 
"  But  the  harlot  dies  for  the  Rajpoot  dame  — 
"  Sister  of  mine,  pass,  free  from  shame. 

"  Pass  with  thy  King  to  rest !  " 

The  black  log  crashed  above  the  white: 

The  little  flames  and  lean, 
Red  as  slaughter  and  blue  as  steel, 
That  whistled  and  fluttered  from  head  to  heel, 
Leaped  up  anew,  for  they  found  their  meal 

On  the  heart  of  —  the  Boondi  Queen ! 


GENERAL  JOUBERT 

1900 

{Died  March  Tt,  1900) 

VV  ITH  those  that  bred,  with  those  that  loosed  the  strife, 
He  had  no  part  whose  hands  were  clear  of  gain; 

But  subtle,  strong,  and  stubborn,  gave  his  hfe 
To  a  lost  cause,  and  knew  the  gift  was  vain. 

Later  shall  rise  a  people,  sane  and  great. 

Forged  in  strong  fires,  by  equal  war  made  one; 

Telling  old  battles  over  without  hate  — 

Not  least  his  name  shall  pass  from  sire  to  son. 

He  may  not  meet  the  onsweep  of  our  van 
In  the  doomed  city  when  we  close  the  score ; 

Yet  o'er  his  grave  —  his  grave  that  holds  a  man  — 
Our  deep-tongued  guns  shall  answer  his  once  more! 

10 


146      COLLECTED  VERSE  OF 

THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  KING'S  MERCY 

1889 

^BDHUR  RAHMAN,  the  Durani  Chief,  of  him  is  the 

story  told. 
His  mercy  fills  the  Khyber  hills  —  his  grace  is  manifold; 
He  has  taken  toll  of  the  North  and  the  South  —  his 

glory  reacheth  far. 
And  they  tell  the  tale  of  his  charity  from  Balkh   to 

Kandahar. 


Before  the  old  Peshawur  Gate,  where  Kurd  and  Kaffir  meet, 

The  Governor  of  Kabul  dealt  the  Justice  of  the  Street, 

And  that  was  strait  as  running  noose  and  swift  as  plunging 

knife, 
Tho'  he  who  held  the  longer  purse  might  hold  the  longer  Hfe. 
There  was  a  hound  of  Hindustan  had  struck  a  Euzufzai, 
Wherefore  they  spat  upon  his  face  and  led  him  out  to  die. 
It  chanced  the  King  went  forth  that  hour  when  throat  was 

bared  to  knife ; 
The  Kaffir  grovelled  under-hoof  and  clamoured  for  liis  life. 

Then  said  the  King :    "  Have  hope,  O  friend !     Yea,  Death 

disgraced  is  hard; 
"  Much  honour  shall  be  thine ;  "  and  called  the  Captain  of  the 

Guard, 
Yar  Khan,  a  bastard  of  the  Blood,  so  city-babble  saith. 
And  he  was  honoured  of  the  King  —  the  which  is  salt  to 

Death ; 
And  he  was  son  of  Daoud  Shah,  the  Reiver  of  the  Plains, 
And  blood  of  old  Durani  Lords  ran  fire  in  his  veins ; 
And  't  was  to  tame  an  Afghan  pride  nor  Hell  nor  Heaven 

could  bind, 
The  King  would  make  him  butcher  to  a  yelping  cur  of  Hind. 


R  U  D  Y  A  11  D     KIPLING  147 

"Strike!"    said  tlie  King.      "King's  blood   art   thou  —  his 

death  shall  be  his  pride!  " 
Then  louder,  that  the  crowd  might  catch:    "Fear  not  —  his 

arms  are  tied  !  " 
Yar  Khan   drew   clear   the   Khyber   knife,   and   struck,   and 

sheathed  again. 
"  O  man,  thy  will  is  done,"  quoth  he ;  "A  King  tliis  dog  hatli 

slain." 

Abdhur  Rahman^  the  Durani  Chief,  to  the  North  and  the 

South  is  sold. 
The  North  and  the  South  shall  open  their  mouth  to  a 

Ghilzai  flag  unrolled, 
When  the  big  guns  speak  to  the  Khyber  peak,  and  his 

dog-Heratis  fly: 
Ye  have  heard   the  song  —  How  long  f      How  long  ? 

Wolves  of  the  Abazai! 

That  night  before  the  watch  was  set,  when  all  the  streets  were 

clear, 
The  Governor  of  Kabul  spoke:     "My  King,  hast  thou  no 

fear  ? 
"  Thou  knowest  —  thou  hast  heard,"  —  his  speech  died  at  his 

master's  face. 
And  grimly  said  the  Afghan  King :   "  I  rule  the  Afghan  race. 
"  My  path  is  mine  —  see  thou  to  thine  —  to-night  upon  thy 

bed 
"  Think  who  there  be  in  Kabul  now  that  clamour  for  thy 

head." 

That  night  when   all  the   gates  were   shut  to   City   and  to 

throne, 
Within  a  little  garden-house  the  King  lay  down  alone. 
Before  the  sinking  of  the  moon,  which  is  the  Night  of  Night, 
Yar  Khan  came  softly  to  the  King  to  make  his  honour  white. 
The  children  of  the  town  had  mocked  beneath  his  horse's  hoofs, 
The  harlots  of  the  town  had  hailed  him  "  butcher !  "  from  their 
roofs. 


148  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

But  as  he  groped  against  the  wall,  two  hands  upon  him  fell, 
The  King  beliind  his  shoulder  spake:   "  Dead  man,  thou  dost 

not  well! 
"  'T  is  ill  to  jest  with  Kings  by  day  and  seek  a  boon  by  night ; 
"  And  that  thou  bearest  in  thy  hand  is  all  too  sharp  to  write. 
"  But  three  days  hence,  if  God  be  good,  and  if  thy  strength 

remain, 
"  Thou  shalt  demand  one  boon  of  me  and  bless  me  in  thy  pain. 
"  For  I  am  merciful  to  all,  and  most  of  all  to  thee. 
"  My  butcher  of  the  shambles,  rest  —  no  knife  hast  thou  for 

me!" 

Abdhur  Rahmariy  the  Durani  Chief,  holds  hard  by  the  South 

and  the  North; 
But  the  Ghilzai  knows,  ere  the  melting  snows,  when  the 

swollen  banks  break  forth. 
When  the  red-coats  crawl  to  the  sungar  wall,  and  his  Usbeg 

lances  fail: 
Ye  have  heard  the  song — How  long?    How  long?     Wolves 

of  the  Zuka  Kheyl! 

They  stoned  him  in  the  rubbish-field  when  dawn  was  in  the  sky, 
According  to  the  written  word,  "  See  that  he  do  not  die." 
They  stoned  him  till  the  stones  were  piled  above  him  on  the 

plain. 
And  those  the  labouring  limbs  displaced  they  tumbled  back 

again. 

One  watched  beside  the  dreary  mound  that  veiled  tlie  battered 

thing. 
And  him  the  King  with  laughter  called  the  Herald  of  the  King. 

It  was  upon  the  second  night,  the  night  of  Ramazan, 

The  watcher  leaning  earthward  heard  the  message  of  Yar 

Khan. 
From  shattered  breast  through  shrivelled  lips  broke  forth  the 

rattling  breath, 
"  Creature  of  God,  deliver  me  from  agony  of  Death." 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  149 

They  sought  the  King  among  his  girls,  and  risked  their  lives 

thereby : 
"  Protector  of  the  Pitiful,  give  orders  that  he  die !  " 

"  Bid  him  endure  until  the  day,"  a  lagging  answer  came ; 
"  The  night  is  short,  and  he  can  pray  and  learn  to  bless  my 

name." 
Before  the  da^vn  three  times  he  spoke,  and  on  the  day  once 

more: 
"  Creature  of  God,  deliver  me,  and  bless  the  King  therefor !  " 

They  shot  him  at  the  morning  prayer,  to  ease  him  of  his  pain, 
And  when  he  heard  the  matchlocks  clink,  he  blessed  the  King 
again. 

Which  thing  the  singers  made  a  song  for  all  the  world  to  sing, 
So  that  the  Outer  Seas  may  know  the  mercy  of  the  King. 

AbdJiur  Rahmnn,  the  Durani  Chief,  of  him  is  the  story  told. 
He  has  opened  his  mouth  to  the  North  and  the  South,  they 

have  stuffed  his  mouth  with  gold. 
Ye  know   the  truth   of  his   tender   ruth  —  and   sweet   his 

favours  are: 
Ye  have  heard  the  song — How  long?    How  long?     from 

Balkh  to  Kandahar. 


THE  BALLAD   OF  THE   KING'S   JEST 

1890 

VV  HEN  spring-time  flushes  the  desert  grass, 
Our  kafilas  wind  through  the  Khyber  Pass. 
Lean  are  the  camels  but  fat  the  frails, 
Light  are  the  purses  but  heavy  the  bales. 
As  the  snowbound  trade  of  the  North  comes  down 
To  the  market-square  of  Peshawur  town. 


150  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

In  a  turquoise  twilight,  crisp  and  chill, 
A  kafila  camped  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 
Then  blue  smoke-haze  of  the  cooking  rose, 
And  tent-peg  answered  to  hammer-nose ; 
And  the  picketed  ponies,  shag  and  wild, 
Strained  at  their  ropes  as  the  feed  was  piled ; 
And  the  bubbhng  camels  beside  the  load 
Sprawled  for  a  furlong  adown  the  road; 
And  the  Persian  pussy-cats,  brought  for  sale, 
Spat  at  the  dogs  from  the  camel-bale ; 
And  the  tribesmen  bellowed  to  hasten  the  food ; 
And  the  camp-fires  twinkled  by  Fort  Jumrood; 
And  there  fled  on  the  wings  of  the  gathering  dusk 
A  savour  of  camels  and  carpets  and  musk, 
A  murmur  of  voices,  a  reek  of  smoke. 
To  tell  us  the  trade  of  the  Kh3^ber  woke. 

The  lid  of  the  flesh-pot  chattered  high. 

The  knives  were  whetted  and  —  then  came  I 

To  Mahbub  Ali  the  muleteer. 

Patching  his  bridles  and  counting  his  gear. 

Crammed  with  the  gossip  of  half  a  year. 

But  Mahbub  Ali  the  kindly  said, 

"  Better  is  speech  when  the  belly  is  fed." 

So  we  plunged  the  hand  to  the  mid-wrist  deep 

In  a  cinnamon  stew  of  the  fat-tailed  sheep, 

And  he  who  never  hath  tasted  the  food, 

By  Allah !   he  knoweth  not  bad  from  good. 

We  cleansed  our  beards  of  the  mutton-grease. 
We  lay  on  the  mats  and  were  filled  with  peace, 
And  the  talk  slid  north,  and  the  talk  slid  south, 
With  the  sliding  puffs  from  the  hookah-mouth. 

Four  things  greater  than  all  things  are,  — 
Women  and  Horses  and  Power  and  War. 
We  spake  of  them  all,  but  the  last  the  most, 
For  I  sought  a  word  of  a  Russian  post, 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  151 

Of  a  shifty  promise,  an  unsheathed  sword 

And  a  grey-coat  guard  on  the  Helmund  ford, 

Then  Mahbub  AH  lowered  his  eyes 

In  the  fashion  of  one  who  is  weaving  lies. 

Quoth  he:   "Of  the  Russians  who  can  say? 

"  When  the  night  is  gathering  all  is  grey. 

"  But  we  look  that  the  gloom  of  the  night  shall  die 

"  In  the  morning  flush  of  a  blood-red  sky. 

"  Friend  of  my  heart,  is  it  meet  or  wise 

"  To  warn  a  King  of  his  enemies.^ 

"  We  know  what  Heaven  or  Hell  may  bring, 

"  But  no  man  knoweth  the  mind  of  the  King. 

"  That  unsought  counsel  is  cursed  of  God 

"  Attesteth  the  story  of  WaH  Dad. 

"  His  sire  was  leaky  of  tongue  and  pen, 

"  His  dam  was  a  clucking  Khuttuck  hen ; 

"  And  the  colt  bred  close  to  the  vice  of  each, 

"  For  he  carried  the  curse  of  an  unstanched  speech. 

*'  Therewith  madness  —  sO'  that  he  sought 

"  The  favour  of  kings  at  the  Kabul  court ; 

"  And  travelled,  in  hope  of  honour,  far 

"  To  the  line  where  the  grey-coat  squadrons  are. 

"  There  have  I  journeyed  too  —  but  I 

"  Saw  naught,  said  naught,  and  —  did  not  die ! 

"  He  hearked  to  rumour,  and  snatched  at  a  breath 

"  Of  '  this  one  knoweth  '  and  '  that  one  saith,'  — 

"  Legends  that  ran  from  mouth  to  mouth 

"  Of  a  grey-coat  coming,  and  sack  of  the  South. 

"  These  have  I  also  heard  —  they  pass 

"  With  each  new  spring  and  the  winter  grass. 

"  Hot-foot  southward,  forgotten  of  God, 

"  Back  to  the  city  ran  Wali  Dad, 

"  Even  to  Kabul  —  in  full  durbar 

"  The  King  held  talk  with  his  Chief  in  War. 

"  Into  the  press  of  the  crowd  he  broke, 

"  And  what  he  had  heard  of  the  coming  spoke. 


15a  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Then  Gholam  Hyder,  the  Red  Chief,  smiled, 

As  a  mother  might  on  a  babbhng  child; 

But  those  who  would  laugh  restrained  their  breath, 

When  the  face  of  the  King  showed  dark  as  death. 

Evil  it  is  in  full  durbar 

To  cry  to  a  ruler  of  gathering  war ! 

Slowly  he  led  to  a  peach-tree  small. 

That  grew  by  a  cleft  of  the  city  wall. 

And  he  said  to  the  boy :  '  They  shall  praise  thy  zeal 

'  So  long  as  the  red  spurt  follows  the  steel. 

'  And  the  Russ  is  upon  us  even  now.? 

'  Great  is  thy  prudence  —  await  them,  thou. 

'  Watch  from  the  tree.    Thou  art  young  and  strong. 

'  Surely  thy  vigil  is  not  for  long. 

'  The  Russ  is  upon  us,  thy  clamour  ran  .'* 

'  Surely  an  hour  shall  bring  their  van. 

'  Wait  and  watch.     When  the  host  is  near, 

*  Shout  aloud  that  my  men  may  hear.' 

Friend  of  my  heart,  is  it  meet  or  wise 

To  warn  a  King  of  his  enemies.? 

A  guard  was  set  that  he  might  not  flee  — 

A  score  of  bayonets  ringed  the  tree. 

The  peach-bloom  fell  in  showers  of  snow, 

When  he  shook  at  his  death  as  he  looked  below. 

By  the  power  of  God,  who  alone  is  great. 

Till  the  seventh  day  he  fought  with  his  fate. 

Then  madness  took  him,  and  men  declare 

He  mowed  in  the  branches  as  ape  and  bear, 

And  last  as  a  sloth,  ere  his  body  failed. 

And  he  hung  like  a  bat  in  the  forks,  and  wailed, 

And  sleep  the  cord  of  his  hands  untied. 

And  he  fell,  and  was  caught  on  the  points  and  died. 

Heart  of  my  heart,  is  it  meet  or  wise 
To  warn  a  King  of  his  enemies? 
We  know  what  Heaven  or  Hell  may  bring. 
But  no  man  knoweth  the  mind  of  the  King. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  153 

"  Of  the  grey-coat  coming  who  can  say? 
"  When  the  night  is  gathering  all  is  grey. 
"  Two  tilings  greater  than  all  things  arc, 
"  The  first  is  Love,  and  the  second  War. 
"  And  since  we  know  not  how  War  may  prore, 
"  Heart  of  my  heart,  let  us  talk  of  Love !  " 


WITH   SCINDIA   TO   DELHI 

1890 

More  than  a  hundred  years  ago,  in  a  great  battle  fought 
near  Delhi,  an  Indian  Prince  rode  -fifty  miles  after  the  day 
was  lost  with  a  beggar-girl,  who  had  loved  him  and  followed 
him  in  all  his  camps,  on  his  saddle-bow.  He  lost  the  girl 
when  almost  within  sight  of  safety.  A  Mahratta  trooper 
tells  the  story:  — 

1  HE  wreath  of  banquet  overnight  lay  withered  on  the  neck, 
Our   hands    and   scarves   were   saffron-dyed   for   signal  of 
despair, 
When  we  went  forth  to  Paniput  to  battle  with  the  Mlech,  — 
Ere  we  came  back  from  Paniput  and  left  a  kingdom  there. 

Thrice   thirty   thousand   men   were   we   to    force   the   Jumna 
fords  — 
The  hawk-winged  horse  of  Damajee,  mailed  squadrons  of 
the  Bhao, 
Stark    levies    of   the    southern    hills,    the    Deccan's    sharpest 
swords. 
And  he!    the  harlot's  traitor  son!    the  goatherd  Mulhar 
Rao! 


154  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Thrice  thirty  thousand  men  were  we  before  the  mists  had 
cleared, 
The  low  white  mists  of  morning  heard  the  war-conch  scream 
and  bray ; 
We  called  upon  Bhowani  and  we  gripped  them  by  the  beard, 
We  rolled  upon  them  Hke  a  flood  and  washed  their  ranks 
away. 

The  children  of  the  hills  of  Khost  before  our  lances  ran, 
We  drove  the  black  Rohiilas  back  as  cattle  to  the  pen ; 

'T  was  then  we  needed  Mulhar  Rao  to  end  what  we  began, 
A  thousand  men  had  saved  the  charge;    he  fled  the  field 
with  ten ! 

There  was  no  room  to  clear  a  sword  —  no  power  to  strike  a 
blow. 
For  foot  to  foot,  ay,  breast  to  breast,  the  battle  held  us 
fast  — 
Save  where  the  naked  hill-men  ran,  and  stabbing  from  below 
Brought  down  the  horse  and  rider  and  we  trampled  them 
and  passed. 

To  left  the  roar  of  musketry  rang  like  a  falling  flood  — 
To  right  the  sunshine  rippled  red  from  redder  lance  and 
blade  — 
Above  the  dark  Upsaras  *  flew,  beneath  us  plashed  the  blood, 
And,  bellying  black  against  the  dust,  the  Bhagwa  Jhanda 
swayed. 

I  saw  it  fall  in  smoke  and  fire,  the  Banner  of  the  Bhao ; 

I  heard  a  voice  across  the  press  of  one  who  called  in  vain :  — 
"  Ho !    Anand  Rao  Nimbalkhur,     ride !     Get  aid  of  Mulhar 
Rao! 
"  Go   shame  his   squadrons   into   fight  —  the   Bhao  —  the 
Bhao  is  slain  !  " 

*  The  Choosers  of  the  Slain. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  156 

Thereat,  as  when  a  sand-bar  breaks  in  clotted  spume   and 
spray  — 
When  rain  of  later  autumn  sweeps  the  Jumna  water-head, 
Before  their  charge  from  flank  to  flank  our  riven  ranks  gave 
way; 
But  of  the  waters  of  that  flood  the  Jumna  fords  ran  red. 

I  held  by  Scindia,  my  lord,  as  close  as  man  might  hold ; 

A  Soobah  of  the  Deccan  asks  no  aid  to  guard  his  life ; 
But  Holkar's  Horse  were  flying,  and  our  chiefest  chiefs  were 
cold. 
And  hke  a  flame  among  us  leapt  the  long  lean  Northern 
knife. 

I  held  by  Scindia  —  my  lance  from  butt  to  tuft  was  dyed. 
The  froth  of  battle  bossed  the  shield  and  roped  the  bridle- 
chain  — 
What  time  beneath  our  horses'  feet  a  maiden  rose  and  cried. 
And  clung  to  Scindia,  and  I  turned  a  sword-cut  from  the 
twain. 

(He  set  a  spell  upon  the  maid  in  woodlands  long  ago, 
A  hunter  by  the  Tapti  banks,  she  gave  him  water  there : 

He  turned  her  heart  to  water,  and  she  followed  to  her  woe. 
What  need  had  he  of  Lalun  who  had  twenty  maids  as  fair?) 

Now  in  that  hour  strength  left  my  lord ;  he  wrenched  his  mare 
aside ; 
He  bound  the  girl  behind  him  and  we  slashed  and  struggled 
free. 
Across  the  reeling  wreck  of  strife  we  rode  as  shadows  ride 
From  Paniput  to  Delhi  town,  but  not  alone  were  we. 

'T  was  Lutuf-Ullah  Populzai  laid  horse  upon  our  track, 
A  swine-fed  reiver  of  the  North  that  lusted  for  the  maid ; 

I  might  have  barred  his  path  awhile,  but  Scindia  called  me 
back. 
And  I  —  O  woe  for  Scindia  !  —  I  listened  and  obeyed. 


156  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

League  after  league  the  formless  scrub  took  shape  and  glided 

League  after  league  the  white  road  swirled  behind  the  white 

mare's  feet  — 
League  after  league,  when  leagues  were  done,  we  heard  the 

Populzai, 
Where  sure  as  Time  and  swift  as  Death  the  tireless  footfall 

beat. 

Noon's  eye  beheld  that  shame  of  flight,  the  shadows  fell,  we 
fled 
Where  steadfast  as  the  wheeling  kite  he  followed  in  our 
train ; 
The  black  wolf  warred  where  we   had  warred,   the   jackal 
mocked  our  dead, 
And  terror  bom  of  twilight-tide  made  mad  the  labouring 
brain. 

I  gasped :  —  "A  kingdom  waits  my  lord ;   her  love  is  but  her 
own. 
"  A  day  shall  mar,  a  day  shall  cure  for  her  —  but  what  for 
thee? 
"  Cut  loose  the  girl :    he  follows  fast.     Cut  loose  and  ride 
alone!" 
Then    Scindia   'twixt   his   blistered   lips :  — "  My   Queens' 
Queen  shall  she  be ! 

"  Of  all  who  ate  my  bread  last  night 't  was  she  alone  that  came 

"  To  seek  her  love  between  the  spears  and  find  her  crown 

therein ! 

"  One  shame  is  mine  to-day,  what  need  the  weight  of  double 

shame? 

"  If  once  we  reach  the  Delhi  gate,  though  all  be  lost,  I  win  !  " 

We  rode  —  the  white  mare  failed  —  her  trot  a  staggering 
stumble  grew,  — 

The  cooking-smoke  of  even  rose  and  weltered  and  hung  low; 
And  still  we  heard  the  Populzai  and  still  we  strained  anew, 

And  Delhi  town  was  very  near,  but  nearer  was  the  foe. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  157 

Yea,  Delhi  town   was  very  near  when   Lalun   whispered :  — 
"Sky! 
"  Lord  of  my  life,  the  mare  sinks  fast  —  stab  deep  and  let 
me  die !  " 
But   Scindia  would  not,   and   the   maid   tore   free   and  flung 
away, 
And  turning  as  she  fell  we  heard  the  clattering  Populzai. 

Then   Scindia    checked   the   gasping   mare   that    rocked   and 
groaned  for  breath. 
And  wheeled  to   charge  and  plunged  the  knife   a  hands- 
breadth  in  her  side  — 
The  hunter   and  the   hunted   know   how  that   last   pause   is 
death  — 
The  blood  had  chilled  about  her  heart,  she  reared  and  fell 
and  died. 

Our  Gods  were  kind.     Before  he  heard  the  maiden's  piteous 
scream 

A  log  upon  the  Delhi  road,  beneath  the  mare  he  lay  — 
Lost  mistress  and  lost  battle  passed  before  him  like  a  dream ; 

The  darkness  closed  about  his  eyes.     I  bore  my  King  away. 


THE    DOVE    OF    DACCA 

1892 

1  HE  freed  dove  flew  to  the  Rajah's  tower  — 
Fled  from  the  slaughter  of  Moslem  kings  — 
And  the  thorns  have  covered  the  city  of  Gaur. 

Dove  —  dove  —  oh,  homing  dove ! 
Little  white  traitor,  with  woe  on  thy  wings ! 


158  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

The  Raj  ah  of  Dacca  rode  under  the  wall ; 

He  set  in  his  bosom  a  dove  of  flight  — 
"  If  she  return,  be  sure  that  I  fall." 

Dove  —  dove  —  oh,  homing  dove ! 
Pressed  to  his  heart  in  the  thick  of  the  fight. 

"  Fire  the  palace,  the  fort,  and  the  keep  — 

Leave  to  the  foeman  no  spoil  at  all. 
In  the  flame  of  the  palace  lie  down  and  sleep 

If  the  dove,  if  the  dove  —  if  the  homing  dove 
Come  and  alone  to  the  palace  wall." 

The  Kings  of  the  North  they  were  scattered  abroad  - 
The  Rajah  of  Dacca  he  slew  them  all. 

Hot  from  slaughter  he  stooped  at  the  ford. 

And  the  dove  —  the  dove  —  oh,  the  homing  dove ! 

She  thought  of  her  cote  on  the  palace  wall. 

She  opened  her  wings  and  she  flew  away  — 

Fluttered  away  beyond  recall; 
She  came  to  the  palace  at  break  of  day. 

Dove  —  dove  —  oh,  homing  dove ! 
Flying  so  fast  for  a  kingdom's  fall. 

The  Queens  of  Dacca  they  slept  in  flame  — 
Slept  in  the  flame  of  the  palace  old  — 

To  save  their  honour  from  Moslem  shame. 

And  the  dove  —  the  dove  —  oh,  the  homing  dove ! 

She  cooed  to  her  young  where  the  smoke-cloud  rolled. 

The  Rajah  of  Dacca  rode  far  and  fleet, 
Followed  as  fast  as  a  horse  could  fly, 

He  came  and  the  palace  was  black  at  his  feet; 
And  the  dove  —  the  dove  —  the  homing  dove. 

Circled  alone  in  the  stainless  sky. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  169 

So  the  dove  ilcw  to  the  Rajah's  tower  — 
Fled  from  the  slaughter  of  Moslem  kings ; 

So  the  thorns  covered  the  city  of  Gaur, 

And  Dacca  was  lost  for  a  white  dove's  wings. 

Dove  —  dove  —  oh,  homing  dove, 

Dacca  is  lost  from  the  Roll  of  the  Kings ! 


THE   BALLAD   OF  BOH  DA  THONE 

1888 

(Burma  War,  1883-85) 

This  is  the  ballad  of  Boh  Da  Thone, 
Erst  a  Pretender  to  Theehaw's  throne^ 
Who  harried  the  district  of  Alalone: 
How  he  met  with  his  fate  and  the  V.  P.  P} 
At  the  hand  of  Harendra  Mukerji, 
Senior  Gomashta,  G.  B,  T,^ 


B 


OH  DA  THONE  was  a  warrior  bold: 
His  sword  and  his  Snider  were  bossed  with  gold, 

And  the  Peacock  Banner  his  henchmen  bore 
Was  stiff  with  bullion,  but  stiffer  with  gore. 

He  shot  at  the  strong  and  he  slashed  at  the  weak 
From  the  Salween  scrub  to  the  Chindwin  teak: 

He  crucified  noble,  he  sacrificed  mean, 
He  filled  old  ladies  with  kerosene: 

While  over  the  water  the  papers  cried, 

"  The  patriot  fights  for  his  countryside !  " 

^  Value  Payable  Post  =  C.  O.  D.  delivery. 
^  Head  Clerk  Government  Bullock  Train. 


IGO  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

But  little  they  cared  for  the  Native  Press, 
The  worn  white  soldiers  in  khaki  dress, 

Who  tramped  through  the  jungle  and  camped  in  the  byre, 
Who  died  in  the  swamp  and  were  tombed  in  the  mire, 

Who  gave  up  their  lives,  at  the  Queen's  Command, 
For  the  Pride  of  their  Race  and  the  Peace  of  the  Land. 

Now,  first  of  the  foemen  of  Boh  Da  Thone 
Was  Captain  O'Neil  of  the  "  Black  Tyrone," 

And  his  was  a  Company,  seventy  strong. 
Who  hustled  that  dissolute  Chief  along. 

There  were  lads  from  Galway  and  Louth  and  Meath 
Who  went  to  their  death  with  a  joke  in  their  teeth. 

And  worshipped  with  fluency,  fervour,  and  zeal 
The  mud  on  the  boot-heels  of  "  Crook  "  O'Neil. 

But  ever  a  blight  on  their  labours  lay. 
And  ever  their  quarry  would  vanish  away. 

Till  the  sun-dried  boys  of  the  Black  Tyrone 
Took  a  brotherly  interest  in  Boh  Da  Thone: 

And,  sooth,  if  pursuit  in  possession  ends. 
The  Boh  and  his  trackers  were  best  of  friends. 

The  word  of  a  scout  —  a  march  by  night  — 

A  rush  through  the  mist  —  a  scattering  fight  — 

A  volley  from  cover  —  a  corpse  in  the  clearing  — 
The  glimpse  of  a  loin-cloth  and  heavy  jade  earring  — 

The  flare  of  a  village  —  the  tally  of  slain  — 
And  .   .  .  the  Boh  was  abroad  on  the  raid  again ! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  161 

They  cursed  their  hick,  as  the  Irish  will, 
Thej  gave  him  credit  for  cunning  and  skill, 

They  buried  their  dead,  they  bolted  their  beef, 
And  started  anew  on  the  track  of  the  thief 

Till,  in  place  of  the  "  Kalends  of  Greece,"  men  said, 

"  When  Crook  and  his  darlings  come  back  with  the  head." 

They  had  hunted  the  Boh  from  the  hills  to  the  plain  — 
He  doubled  and  broke  for  the  hills  again: 

They  had  crippled  his  power  for  rapine  and  raid. 
They  had  routed  him  out  of  his  pet  stockade. 

And  at  last,  they  came,  when  the  Daystar  tired. 
To  a  camp  deserted  —  a  village  fired. 

A  black  cross  blistered  the  Morning-gold, 
And  the  body  upon  it  was  stark  and  cold. 

The  wind  of  the  dawn  went  merrily  past. 
The  high  grass  bowed  her  plumes  to  the  blast. 

And  out  of  the  grass,  on  a  sudden,  broke 
A  spirtle  of  fire,  a  whorl  of  smoke  — 

And  Captain  O'Neil  of  the  Black  Tyrone 
Was  blessed  with  a  slug  in  the  ulnar-bone  — 
The  gift  of  his  enemy  Boh  Da  Thone. 

(Now  a  slug  that  is  hammered  from  telegraph-wire 
Is  a  thorn  in  the  flesh  and  a  rankhng  fire.) 


The  shot-wound  festered  —  as  shot-wounds  may 
In  a  steaming  barrack  at  Mandalay. 

11 


162  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

The  left  arm  throbbed,  and  the  Captain  swore, 
"  I  'd  like  to  be  after  the  Boh  once  more !  " 

The  fever  held  him  —  the  Captain  said, 
"  I  'd  give  a  hundred  to  look  at  his  head !  " 

The  Hospital  punkahs  creaked  and  whirred, 
But  Babu  Harendra  (Gomashta)  heard. 

He  thought  of  the  cane-brake,  green  and  dank, 
That  girdled  his  home  hj  the  Dacca  tank. 

He  thought  of  his  wife  and  his  High  School  son. 

He  thought  —  but  abandoned  the  thought  —  of  a  gun. 

His  sleep  was  broken  by  visions  dread 
Of  a  shining  Boh  with  a  silver  head. 

He  kept  his  counsel  and  went  his  way. 

And  swindled  the  cartmen  of  half  their  pay. 

And  the  months  went  on,  as  the  worst  must  do 
And  the  Boh  returned  to  the  raid  anew. 

But  the  Captain  had  quitted  the  long-drawn  strife. 
And  in  far  Simoorie  had  taken  a  wife. 

And  she  was  a  damsel  of  delicate  mould. 
With  hair  like  the  sunshine  and  heart  of  gold, 

And  little  she  knew  the  arms  that  embraced 
Had  cloven  a  man  from  the  brow  to  the  waist : 

And  little  she  knew  that  the  loving  lips 
Had  ordered  a  quivering  life's  eclipse, 

And  the  eye  that  lit  at  her  lightest  breath 
Had  glared  unawed  in  the  Gates  of  Death. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  163 

(For  these  be  matters  a  man  would  hide, 
As  a  general  inile,  from  an  innocent  Bride.) 

And  little  the  Captain  thought  of  the  past, 
And,  of  all  men,  Babu  Harendra  last. 


But  slow,  in  the  sludge  of  the  Kathun  road, 
The  Government  Bullock  Train  toted  its  load. 

Speckless  and  spotless  and  shining  with  ghee^^ 
In  the  rearmost  cart  sat  the  Babu-jee. 

And  ever  a  phantom  before  him  fled 
Of  a  scowling  Boh  with  a  silver  head. 

Then  the  lead-cart  stuck,  though  the  coolies  slaved, 
And  the  cartmen  flogged  and  the  escort  raved ; 

And  out  of  the  jungle,  with  yells  and  squeals. 
Pranced  Boh  Da  Thone,  and  his  gang  at  his  heels ! 

Then  belching  blunderbuss  answered  back 
The  Snider's  snarl  and  the  carbine's  crack, 

And  the  blithe  revolver  began  to  sing 

To  the  blade  that  twanged  on  the  locking-ring, 

And  the  brown  flesh  blued  where  the  bay'net  kissed. 
As  the  steel  shot  back  with  a  wrench  and  a  twist, 

And  the  great  white  bullocks  with  onyx  eyes 
Watched  the  souls  of  the  dead  arise, 

And  over  the  smoke  of  the  fusillade 

The  Peacock  Banner  staggered  and  swayed. 

'  Butter. 


164^  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

The  Babu  shook  at  the  horrible  sight, 
And  girded  his  ponderous  loins  for  flight, 

But  Fate  had  ordained  that  the  Boh  should  start 
On  a  lone-hand  raid  of  the  rearmost  cart. 

And  out  of  that  cart,  with  a  bellow  of  woe, 
The  Babu  fell  — flat  on  the  top  of  the  Boh! 

For  years  had  Harendra  served  the  State, 

To  the  growth  of  his  purse  and  the  girth  of  his  "pet? 

There  were  twenty  stone,  as  the  tally-man  knows. 
On  the  broad  of  the  chest  of  this  best  of  Bohs. 

And  twenty  stone  from  a  height  discharged 
Are  bad  for  a  Boh  with  a  spleen  enlarged. 

Oh,  short  was  the  struggle  —  severe  was  the  shock  — 
He  dropped  like  a  bullock  —  he  lay  hke  a  block; 

And  the  Babu  above  him,  convulsed  with  fear, 
Heard  the  labouring  life-breath  hissed  out  in  his  ear. 

And  thus  in  a  fashion  undignified 
The  princely  pest  of  the  Chindwin  died. 

Turn  now  to  Simoorie,  where,  all  at  his  ease, 
The  Captain  is  petting  the  Bride  on  his  knees, 

Where  the  whit  of  the  bullet,  the  wounded  man's  scream 
Are  mixed  as  the  mist  of  some  devilish  dream  — 

Forgotten,  forgotten  the  sweat  of  the  shambles 

Where  the  hill-daisy  blooms  and  the  grey  monkey  gambols, 

•  Stomach- 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  165 

From  the  sword-belt  set  free  and  released  from  the  steel, 
The  Peace  of  the  Lord  is  on  Captain  O'Neil! 

Up  the  hill  to  Simoorie  —  most  patient  of  drudges  — 
The  bags  on  his  shoulder,  the  mail-runner  trudges. 

"  For  Captain  O'Neil,  Sahib.     One  hundred  and  ten 
"  Rupees  to  collect  on  delivery." 

Then 

(Their    breakfast   was    stopped    while    the    screw-jack    and 

hammer 
Tore    waxcloth,     spHt    teak-wood,    and    cliipped    out     the 

dammer;) 

Open-eyed,  open-mouthed,  on  the  napery's  snow. 

With  a  crash  and  a  thud,  rolled  —  the  Head  of  the  Boh ! 

And  gummed  to  the  scalp  was  a  letter  which  ran :  — 

"  In  Fielding  Force  Service. 
"  Encampment, 

"  10th  Jan. 

"  Dear  Sir,  —  I  have  honour  to  send,  as  you  said, 
"For  final  approval  (see  under)  Boh's  Head; 

"  Was  took  by  myself  in  most  bloody  affair. 
"  By  High  Education  brought  pressure  to  bear. 

"  Now  violate  Liberty,  time  being  bad, 

"  To  mail  V.  P.  P.  (rupees  hundred)  Please  add 

"  Whatever  Your  Honour  can  pass.     Price  of  Blood 

"  Much  cheap  at  one  hundred,  and  children  want  food ; 


166  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

"  So  trusting  Your  Honour  will  somewhat  retain 
"  True  love  and  affection  for  Govt.  Bullock  Train, 

"  And  show  awful  kindness  to  satisfy  me, 

"  I  am, 

"  Graceful  Master, 

"  Your 

"  H.    MUKEBJI." 

As  the  rabbit  is  drawn  to  the  rattlesnake's  power, 
As  the  smoker's  eye  fills  at  the  opium  hour. 

As  a  horse  reaches  up  to  the  manger  above, 

As  the  waiting  ear  yearns  for  the  whisper  of  love, 

Trom  the  arms  of  the  Bride,  iron-visaged  and  slow, 
The  Captain  bent  down  to  the  Head  of  the  Boh. 

And  e'en  as  he  looked  on  the  Thing  where  It  lay 
'Twixt  the  winking  new  spoons  and  the  napkins'  array, 

The  freed  mind  fled  back  to  the  long-ago  days  — 
The  hand-to-hand  scuffle  —  the  smoke  and  the  blaze  — 

The  forced  march  at  night  and  the  quick  rush  at  dawn  — 
The  banjo  at  twilight,  the  burial  ere  morn  — 

The  stench  of  the  marshes  —  the  raw,  piercing  smell 
When  the  overhand  stabbing-cut  silenced  the  yell  — 

The  oaths  of  his  Irish  that  surged  when  they  stood 
Where  the  black  crosses  hung  o'er  the  Kuttamow  flood. 

As  a  derelict  ship  drifts  away  with  the  tide 

The  Captain  went  out  on  the  Past  from  his  Bride, 

Back,  back,  through  the  springs  to  the  chill  of  the  year, 
When  he  hunted  the  Boh  from  Maloon  to  Tsaleer. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  167 

As  the  shape  of  a  corpse  dimmers  up  through  deep  water, 
In  his  eye  lit  the  passionless  passion  of  slaughter, 

And  men  who  had  fought  with  O'Neil  for  the  life 
Had  gazed  on  his  face  with  less  dread  than  his  wife. 

For  she  who  had  held  him  so  long  could  not  hold  him  — 
Though  a  four-month  Eternity  should  have  controlled  him  — 

But  watched  the  twin  Terror  —  the  head  turned  to  head  — 
The  scowling,  scarred  Black,  and  the  flushed  savage  Red  — 

The  spirit  that  changed  from  her  knowing  and  flew  to 
Some  grim  hidden  Past  she  had  never  a  clue  to. 

But  It  knew  as  It  grinned,  for  he  touched  it  unfearing. 
And  muttered  aloud,  "  So  you  kept  that  jade  earring!  " 

Then  nodded,  and  kindly,  as  friend  nods  to  friend, 
"  Old  man,  you  fought  well,  but  you  lost  in  the  end." 


The  visions  departed,  and  Shame  followed  Passion :  — 
"  He  took  what  I  said  in  this  horrible  fashion? 

"  /  7Z  write  to  Harendra !  "     With  language  unsainted 
The  Captain  came  back  to  the  Bride  .  .  .  who  had  fainted. 


And  this  is  a  fiction?    No.     Go  to  Simoorie 

And  look  at  their  baby,  a  twelve-month  old  Houri, 

A  pert  little,  Irish-eyed  Kathleen  Mavournin  — 
She  's  always  about  on  the  Mall  of  a  m.ornin'  — 

And  you  '11  see,  if  her  right  shoulder-strap  is  displaced. 
This:    Gules  upon  argent,  a  Boh's  Head,  erased! 


168  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

THE   SACRIFICE   OF  ER-HEB 

1887 


El 


R-HEB  beyond  the  Hills  of  Ao-Safai 
Bears  witness  to  the  truth,  and  Ao-Safai 
Hath  told  the  men  of  Gorukh.     Thence  the  tale 
Comes  westward  6*er  the  'peaks  to  India. 

I  The  story  of  Bisesa,  Armod's  child, — 

\A  maiden  plighted  to  the  Chief  in  War, 

The  Man  of  Sixty  Spears,  who  held  the  Pass 

That  leads  to  Thibet,  but  to-day  is  gone 

To  seek  his  comfort  of  the  God  called  Budh 

f  The  Silent  —  showing  how  the  Sickness  ceased  \ 

\  Because  of  her  who  died  to  save  the  tribe.  ,     fVt^   ) 

--  ^p 

\Taman  is  One  and  greater  than  us  all, 
Taman  is  One  and  greater  than  all  Gods : 
\  Taman  is  Two  in  One  and  rides  the  sky. 

Curved  like  a  stallion's  croup,  from  dusk  to  dawn, 
And  drums  upon  it  with  his  heels,  whereby 
Is  bred  the  neighing  thunder  in  the  hills. 

This  is  Taman,  the  God  of  all  Er-Heb, 

Who  was  before  all  Gods,  and  made  all  Gods, 

And  presently  will  break  the  Gods  he  made. 

And  step  upon  the  Earth  to  govern  men 

Who  give  him  milk-dry  ewes  and  cheat  his  Priests, 

Or  leave  his  shrine  unlighted  —  as  Er-Heb 

Left  it  unlighted  and  forgot  Taman, 

When  all  the  Valley  followed  after  Kysh 

And  Yabosh,  little  Gods  but  very  wise. 

And  from  the  sky  Taman  beheld  their  sin. 

He  sent  the  Sickness  out  upon  the  hills 

The  Red  Horse  Sickness  with  the  iron  hooves, 

To  turn  the  Valley  to  Taman  again. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  169 

And  the  Red  Horse  snuffed  thrice  into  the  wind, 

The  naked  wind  tliat  had  no  fear  of  him; 

And  the  Red  Horse  stamped  thrice  upon  the  snow, 

The  naked  snow  that  had  no  fear  of  him ; 

And  the  Red  Horse  went  out  across  the  rocks, 

The  ringing  rocks  that  had  no  fear  of  him ; 

And  downward,  where  the  lean  birch  meets  the  snow. 

And  downward,  where  the  grey  pine  meets  the  birch. 

And  downward,  where  the  dwarf  oak  meets  the  pine, 

Till  at  his  feet  our  cup-like  pastures  lay. 

That  night,  the  slow  mists  of  the  evening  dropped, 

Dropped  as  a  cloth  upon  a  dead  man's  face. 

And  weltered  in  the  valley,  bluish-white 

Like  water  very  silent  —  spread  abroad. 

Like  water  very  silent,  from  the  Shrine 

Unhghted  of  Taman  to  where  the  stream 

Is  dammed  to  fill  our  cattle-troughs  —  sent  up 

White  waves  that  rocked  and  heaved  and  then  were  still. 

Till  all  the  Valley  glittered  like  a  marsh. 

Beneath  the  moonhght,  filled  with  sluggish  mist 

Knee-deep,  so  that  men  waded  as  they  walked. 

That  night,  the  Red  Horse  grazed  above  the  Dam, 
Beyond  the  cattle-troughs.     Men  heard  him  feed. 
And  those  that  heard  him  sickened  where  they  lay. 

Thus  came  the  sickness  to  Er-Heb,  and  slew 
Ten  men,  strong  men,  and  of  the  women  four ; 
And  the  Red  Horse  went  hillward  with  the  da-wn. 
But  near  the  cattle-troughs  his  hoof-prints  lay. 

That  night,  the  slow  mists  of  the  evening  dropped, 
Dropped  as  a  cloth  upon  the  dead,  but  rose 
A  little  higher,  to  a  young  girl's  height ; 
Till  all  the  valley  glittered  like  a  lake, 
Beneath  the  moonlight,  filled  with  sluggish  mist. 


170  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

That  night,  the  Red  Horse  grazed  beyond  the  Dam 

A  stone's-throw  from  the  troughs.     Men  heard  him  feed, 

And  those  that  heard  him   sickened  where  they   lay. 

Thus  came  the  sickness  to  Er-Heb,  and  slew 

Of  men  a  score,  and  of  the  women  eight, 

And  of  the  children  two. 

Because  the  road 
To  Gorukh  was  a  road  of  enemies. 
And  Ao-Safai  was  blocked  with  early  snow. 
We  could  not  flee  from  out  the  Valley.     Death 
Smote  at  us  in  a  slaughter-pen,  and  Kysh 
Was  mute  as  Yabosh,  though  the  goats  were  slain ; 
And  the  Red  Horse  grazed  nightly  by  the  stream, 
And  later,  outward,  towards  the  Unlighted  Shrine, 
And  those  that  heard  him  sickened  where  they  lay. 

Then  said  Bisesa  to  the  Priests  at  dusk, 

When  the  white  mist  rose  up  breast-high,  and  choked 

The  voices  in  the  houses  of  the  dead :  — 

"  Yabosh  and  Kysh  avail  not.     If  the  Horse 

"  Reach  the  Unhghted  Shrine  we  surely  die. 

"  Ye  have  forgotten  of  all  Gods  the  chief, 

"  Taman !  "     Here  rolled  the  thunder  through  the  Hill. 

And  Yabosh  shook  upon  his  pedestal. 

"  Ye  have  forgotten  of  all  Gods  the  chief 

''  Too  long."    And  all  were  dumb  save  one,  who  cried 

On  Yabosh  with  the  Sapphire  'twixt  His  knees. 

But  found  no  answer  in  the  smoky  roof. 

And,  being  smitten  of  the  sickness,  died 

Before  the  altar  of  the  Sapphire  Shrine. 

Then  said  Bisesa :  —  "I  am  near  to  Death, 
"  And  have  the  Wisdom  of  the  Grave  for  gift 
"  To  bear  me  on  the  path  my  feet  must  tread. 
"  If  there  be  wealth  on  earth,  then  I  am  rich, 
"  For  Armod  is  the  first  of  all  Er-Heb ; 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  171 

"  If  there  be  beauty  on  the  earth,"  —  her  eyes 

Dropped  for  a  moment  to  the  temple  floor,  — 

"  Ye  know  that  I  am  fair.     If  there  be  Love, 

"  Ye  know  that  love  is  mine."     The  Chief  in  War, 

The  Man  of  Sixty  Spears,  broke  from  the  press. 

And  would  have  clasped  her,  but  the  Priests  withstood. 

Saying :  —  "  She  has  a  message  from  Taman." 

Then  said  Bisesa :  —  "By  my  wealth  and  love 

"  And  beauty,  I  am  chosen  of  the  God 

"  Taman."     Here  rolled  the  thunder  through  the  Hills 

And  Kysh  fell  forward  on  the  Mound  of  Skulls. 

In  darkness,  and  before  our  Priests,  the  maid 

Between  the  altars  cast  her  bracelet-s  down, 

Therewith  the  heavy  earrings  Amiod  made. 

When  he  was  young,  out  of  the  water-gold 

Of  Gorukh  —  threw  the  breast-plate  thick  with  jade 

Upon  the  turquoise  anklets  —  put  aside 

The  bands  of  silver  on  her  brow  and  neck; 

And  as  the  trinkets  tinkled  on  the  stones, 

The  thunder  of  Taman  lowed  like  a  bull. 

Then  said  Bisesa,  stretching  out  her  hands, 
As  one  in  darkness  fearing  Devils  :  —  "  Plelp ! 
"  O  Priests,  I  am  a  woman  very  weak. 
"  And  who  am  I  to  know  the  will  of  Gods  ? 
"Taman  hath  called  me  —  whither  shall  I  go?" 
The  Chief  in  War,  the  Man  of  Sixty  Spears, 
Howled  in  his  torment,  fettered  by  the  Priests, 
But  dared  not  come  to  her  to  drag  her  forth, 
And  dared  not  lift  his  spear  against,  the  Priests, 
Then  all  men  wept. 

There  was  a  Priest  of  Kysh 
Bent  with  a  hundred  winters,  hairless,  blind, 
And  taloned  as  the  great  Snow-Eagle  is. 
His  seat  was  nearest  to  the  altar-fires, 


172  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

And  he  was  counted  dumb  among  the  Priests. 

But,  whether  Kysh  decreed,  or  from  Taman 

The  impotent  tongue  found  utterance  we  know 

As  little  as  the  bats  beneath  the  eaves. 

He  cried  so  that  they  heard  who  stood  without :  — 

"  To  the  UnHghted  Shrine !  "  and  crept  aside 

Into  the  shadow  of  his  fallen  God 

And  whimpered,  and  Bisesa  went  her  way. 

That  night,  the  slow  mists  of  the  evening  dropped, 

Dropped  as  a  cloth  upon  the  dead,  and  rose 

Above  the  roofs,  and  by  the  Unlighted  Shrine 

Lay  as  the  shmy  water  of  the  troughs 

When  murrain  thins  the  cattle  of  Er-Heb: 

And  through  the  mist  men  heard  the  Red  Horse  feed. 

In  Armod's  house  they  burned  Bisesa's  dower. 
And  killed  her  black  bull  Tor,  and  broke  her  wheel. 
And  loosed  her  hair,  as  for  the  marriage-feast. 
With  cries  more  loud  than  mourning  for  the  dead. 

Across  the  fields,  from  Armod's  dwelling-place. 

We  heard  Bisesa  weeping  where  she  passed 

To  seek  the  UnHghted  Shrine;    the  Red  Horse  neighed 

And  followed  her,  and  on  the  river-mint 

His  hooves  struck  dead  and  heavy  in  our  ears. 

Out  of  the  mists  of  evening,  as  the  star 

Of  Ao-Safai  climbs  through  the  black  snow-blur 

To  show  the  Pass  is  clear,  Bisesa  stepped 

Upon  the  great  grey  slope  of  mortised  stone. 

The  CauscAvay  of  Taman.     The  Red  Horse  neighed 

Behind  her  to  the  Unlighted  Shrine  —  then  fled 

North  to  the  Mountain  where  his  stable  lies. 

They  know  who  dared  the  anger  of  Taman, 

And  watched  tliat  night  above  the  clinging  mists. 

Far  up  the  hill,  Bisesa's  passing  in. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  173 

She  set  her  hand  upon  the  carven  door, 
Fouled  by  a  myriad  bats,  and  l)lack  with  time, 
Whereon  is  graved  the  Glory  of  Taman 
In  letters  older  than  the  Ao-Safai ; 
And  twice  she  turned  aside  and  twice  she  wept. 
Cast  down  upon  the  threshold,  clamouring 
For  him  she  loved  —  the  Man  of  Sixty  Spears, 
And  for  her  father,  —  and  the  black  bull  Tor, 
Hers  and  her  pride.     Yea,  twice  she  turned  away 
Before  the  awful  darkness  of  the  door, 
And  the  great  horror  of  the  Wall  of  Man 
Where  Man  is  made  the  plaything  of  Taman, 
An  Eyeless  Face  that  waits  above  and  laughs. 

But  the  third  time  she  cried  and  put  her  palms 
Against  the  hewn  stone  leaves,  and  prayed  Taman 
To  spare  Er-Heb  and  take  her  Hfe  for  price. 

They  know  who  watched,  the  doors  were  rent  apart 
And  closed  upon  Bisesa,  and  the  rain 
Broke  like  a  flood  across  the  Valley,  washed 
The  mist  away ;   but  louder  than  the  rain 
The  thunder  of  Taman  filled  men  with  fear. 

Some  say  that  from  the  Unlighted  Shrine  she  cried 
For  succour,  very  pitifully,  thrice. 
And  others  that  she  sang  and  had  no  fear. 
And  some  that  there  was  neither  song  nor  cry. 
But  only  thunder  and  the  lashing  rain. 

Howbeit,  in  the  morning  men  rose  up. 
Perplexed  with  horror,  crowding  to  the  Shrine. 
And  when  Er-Heb  was  gathered  at  the  doors 
The  Priests  made  lamentation  and  passed  in 
To  a  strange  Temple  and  a  God  they  feared 
But  knew  not. 


174  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

From  the  crevices  the  grass 
Had  thrust  the  altar-slabs  apart,  the  walls 
Were  grey  with  stains  unclean,  the  roof-beams  swelled 
With  many-coloured  growth  of  rottenness. 
And  lichen  veiled  the  Image  of  Taman 
In  leprosy.     The  Basin  of  the  Blood 
Above  the  altar  held  the  morning  sun : 
A  winking  ruby  on  its  heart:   below 
Face  hid  in  hands,  the  maid  Bisesa  lay. 

Er-Heh  beyond  the  Hills  of  Ao-Safai 
Bears  witness  to  the  truth,  and  Ao-Safai 
Hath  told  the  men  of  Gorukh.     Thence  the  tale 
Comes  westward  o'er  the  peaks  to  India. 


THE  LAMENT  OF  THE  BORDER 
CATTLE  THIEF 


1888 


o 


WOE  is  me  for  the  merry  life 
I  led  beyond  the  Bar, 
And  a  treble  woe  for  my  winsome  wife 
That  weeps  at  Shahmar. 

They  have  taken  away  my  long  jezail, 

My  shield  and  sabre  fine, 
And  heaved  me  into  the  Central  Jail 

For  lifting  of  the  kine. 

The  steer  may  low  within  the  byre, 
The  Jut  may  tend  his  grain, 

But  there  '11  be  neither  loot  nor  fire 
Till  I  come  back  again. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  175 

And  God  have  mercy  on  the  Jut 

When  once  my  fetters  fall, 
And  Heaven  defend  the  fanner's  hut 

When  I  am  loosed  from  thrall. 

It 's  woe  to  bend  the  stubborn  back 

Above  the  grinching  quern, 
It 's  woe  to  hear  the  leg-bar  clack 

And  jingle  when  I  turn ! 

But  for  the  sorrow  and  the  shame, 

The  brand  on  me  and  mine, 
I  '11  pay  you  back  in  leaping  flame 

And  loss  of  the  butchered  kine. 

For  every  cow  I  spared  before  — 

In  charity  set  free  — 
If  I  may  reach  my  hold  once  more 

I  '11  reive  an  honest  three. 

For  every  time  I  raised  the  lowe 

That  scared  the  dusty  plain, 
By  sword  and  cord,  by  torch  and  tow 

I  '11  hght  the  land  with  twain ! 

Ride  hard,  ride  hard  to  Abazai, 

Young  Sahib  with  the  yellow  hair  — 

Lie  close,  lie  close  as  khuttucks  lie, 
Fat  herds  below  Bonair ! 

The  one  I  '11  shoot  at  twilight-tide, 

At  dawn  I  '11  drive  the  other ; 
The  black  shall  mourn  for  hoof  and  liide. 

The  white  man  for  his  brother. 

'T  is  war,  red  war,  I  '11  give  you  then. 

War  till  my  sinews  fail ; 
For  the  wrong  you  have  done  to  a  chief  of  men, 

And  a  thief  of  the  Zukka  Khevl. 


176  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

And  if  I  fall  to  your  hand  afresh 

I  give  you  leave  for  the  sin, 
That  you  cram  my  throat  with  the  foul  pig's  flesh, 

And  swing  me  in  the  skin ! 


THE   FEET  OF  THE  YOUNG   MEN 

1897 


N^ 


OW  the  Four-way  Lodge  is   opened,  now  the  Hunting 

Winds  are  loose  — 
Now  the  Smokes  of  Spring  go  up  to  clear  the  brain ; 
Now  the  Young  Men's  hearts  are  troubled  for  the  whisper  of 
the  Trues, 
Now  the  Red  Gods  make  their  medicine  again ! 
Who  hath  seen  the  beaver  busied?     Who  hath  watched  the 
black-tail  mating? 
Who  hath  lain  alone  to  hear  the  wild-goose  cry  ? 
Who  hath  worked  the  chosen  water  where  the  ouananiche  is 
waiting, 
Or  the  sea-trout's  jumping-crazy  for  the  fly? 

He  must  go  —  go  —  go  away  from  here! 

On  the  other  side  the  world  he  's  overdue, 
'Send  your  road  is  clear  before  you  when  tlie  old  Spring- 
fret  comes  o^er  you, 

And  the  Red  Gods  call  for  you! 

So  for  one  the  wet  sail  arching  through  the  rainbow  round 
the  bow. 
And  for  one  the  creak  of  snow-shoes  on  the  crust ; 
And  for  one  the  lakeside  lilies  where  the  bull-moose  waits  the 
cow, 
And  for  one  the  mule-train  cougliing  in  the  dust. 


11  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  177 

Who  hath  smelt  wood-smoke  at  twihght  ?    Who  hath  heard  the 
birch-log  burning? 
Who  is  quick  to  read  the  noises  of  the  night? 
Let  him  follow  with  the  others,  for  the  Young  Men's  feet  are 
turning 
To  the  camps  of  proved  desire  and  known  dehght ! 

Let  him  go  —  go^  etc. 


Do  you  know  the  blackened  timber  —  do  you  know  that  racing 
stream 
With  the  raw,  right-angled  log- jam  at  the  end; 
And  the  bar  of  sun-warmed  shingle  where  a  man  may  bask 
and  dream 
To  the  click  of  shod  canoe-poles  round  the  bend? 
It  is  there  that  we  are  going  with  our  rods  and  reels  and  traces. 

To  a  silent,  smoky  Indian  that  we  know  — 
To  a  couch  of  new-pulled  hemlock,  with  the  starhght  on  our 
faces. 
For  the  Red  Gods  call  us  out  and  we  must  go ! 

Thei/  must  go  —  go,  etc. 

II 

Do  you  know  the  shallow  Baltic  where  the  seas  are  steep  and 
short, 
Where  the  bluff,  lee-boarded  fishing-luggers  ride? 
Do  you  know  the  joy  of  threshing  leagues  to  leeward  of  your 
port 
On  a  coast  you  've  lost  the  chart  of  overside? 
It  is  there  that  I  am  going,  with  an  extra  hand  to  bale  her  — 

Just  one  able  'long-shore  loafer  that  I  know. 
He  can  take  his  chance  of  drowning,  while  I  sail  and  sail  and 
sail  her. 
For  the  Red  Gods  call  me  out  and  I  must  go ! 

He  must  go  —  go,  etc. 

IS 


178  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 


III 

Do  you  know  the  pile-built  village  where  the   sago-dealers 
trade  — 

Do  you  know  the  reek  of  fish  and  wet  bamboo? 
Do  you  know  the  steaming  stillness  of  the  orchid-scented  glade 

When  the  blazoned,  bird-winged  butterflies  flap  through? 
It  is  there  that  I  am  going  with  my  camphor,  net,  and  boxes, 

To  a  gentle,  yellow  pirate  that  I  know  — 
To  my  httle  wailing  lemurs,  to  my  palms  and  flying-foxes, 

For  the  Red  Gods  call  me  out  and  I  must  go ! 

He  must  go  —  go,  etc. 

IV 

Do  you  know  the  world's  white  roof-tree  —  do  you  know  that 
windy  rift 
Where  the  baffling  mountain-eddies  chop  and  change? 
Do  you  know  the  long  day's  patience,  belly-down  on  frozen 
drift. 
While  the  head  of  heads  is  feeding  out  of  range? 
It  is  there  that  I  am  going,  where  the  boulders  and  the  snow 
lie, 
With  a  trusty,  nimble  tracker  that  I  know. 
I  have  sworn  an  oath,  to  keep  it  on  the  Horns  of  Ovis  Poli, 
And  the  Red  Gods  call  me  out  and  I  must  go ! 

He  must  go  —  go,  etc. 

Now  the  Four-way  Lodge  is  opened  —  now  the  Smokes  of 
Council  rise  — 
Pleasant  smokes,  ere  yet  'twixt  trail  and  trail  they  choose  — 
Now  the  girths  and  ropes  are  tested :  now  they  pack  their  last 
supplies : 
Now  our  Young  Men  go  to  dance  before  the  Trues ! 
Who  shall  meet  them  at  those  altars  —  who  shall  Hght  them 
to  that  shrine? 
Velvet-footed,  who  shall  guide  them  to  their  goal? 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  179 

Unto  each  the  voice  and  vision :    unto   each  his   spoor   and 

sign  — 
Lonely  mountain  in  the  Northland,  misty  sweat-bath  'neath 
the  Line  — 
And  to  each  a  man  that  knows  his  naked  soul ! 
White  or  yellow,  black  or  copper,  he  is  waiting",  as  a  lover. 

Smoke  of  funnel,  dust  of  hooves,  or  beat  of  train  — 
Where  the  high  grass  hides  the  horseman  or  the  glaring  flats 

discover  — 
Where  the  steamer  hails  the  landing,  or  the  surf-boat  brings 

the  rover  — 
Where  the  rails  run  out  in  sand-drift  .  .   .  Quick !    ah,  heave 
the  camp-kit  over ! 
For  the  Red  Gods  make  their  medicine  again ! 

And  we  go  —  go  - —  go  away  from  h^re! 

On  the  other  side  the  world  we  We  over  due  I 
^Send  the  road  is  clear  before  you  when  the  old  Spring- 
fret  comes  6*er  you. 

And  the  Red  Gods  call  for  you! 


THE  TRUCE  OF  THE  BEAR 

1898 

Y  EARLY,  with  tent  and  rifle,  our  careless  white  men  go 
By  the  pass  called  Muttianee,  to  shoot  in  the  vale  below. 
Yearly  by  Muttianee  he  follows  our  white  men  in  — 
Matun,  the  old  blind  beggar,  bandaged  from  brow  to  chin. 

Eyeless,  noseless,  and  lipless  —  toothless,  broken  of  speech. 
Seeking  a  dole  at  the  doorway  he  mumbles  his  tale  to  each ; 
Over  and  over  the  story,  ending  as  he  began : 
"  Make  ye  no  truce  with  Adam-zad  —  the  Bear  that  walks  like 


a  man 


180  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

"  There  was  a  flint  in  my  musket  —  pricked  and  primed  was 

the  pan, 
When  I  went  hunting  Adam-zad  —  the  Bear  that  stands  Hke 

a  man. 
I  looked  my  last  on  the  timber,  I  looked  my  last  on  the  snow, 
When  I  went  hunting  Adam-zad  fifty  summers  ago! 

"  I  knew  his  times  and  his  seasons,  as  he  knew  mine,  that  fed 
By  night  in  the  ripened  maizefield  and  robbed  my  house  of 

bread ; 
I  knew  his  strength  and  cunning,  as  he  knew  mine,  that  crept 
At  dawn  to  the  crowded  goat-pens  and  plundered  while  I  slept. 

"  Up  from  his  stony  playground  —  down  from  his  well-digged 

lair  — 
Out  on  the  naked  ridges  ran  Adam-zad  the  Bear ; 
Groaning,  grunting,  and  roaring,  heavy  with  stolen  meals, 
Two  long  marches  to  northward,  and  I  was  at  his  heels ! 

"  Two  full  marches  to  northward,  at  the  fall  of  the  second 

night, 
I  came  on  mine  enemy  Adam-zad  all  panting  from  his  flight. 
There  was  a  charge  in  the  musket  —  pricked  and  primed  was 

the  pan  — 
My  finger  crooked  on  the  trigger  —  when  he  reared  up  hke 

a  man. 

"  Horrible,  hairy,  human,  with  paws  like  hands  in  prayer, 

Making  his  supplication  rose  Adam-zad  the  Bear ! 

I  looked  at  the  swaying  shoulders,  at  the  paunch's  swag  and 
swing. 

And  my  heart  was  touched  with  pity  for  the  monstrous,  plead- 
ing thing. 

"  Touched  with  pity  and  wonder,  I  did  not  fire  then  .   .  . 
I  have  looked  no  more  on  women  —  I  have  walked  no  more 
with  men. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  181 

Nearer  he  tottered  and  nearer,   with   paws  like  hands   that 

pray  — 
From  brow  to  jaw  that   steel-shod  paw,  it  ripped   my   face 

away ! 

"  Sudden,  silent,  and  savage,  searing  as  flame  the  blow  — 
Faceless  I  fell  before  his  feet,  fifty  summers  ago. 
I  heard  him  grunt  and  chuckle  —  I  heard  him  pass  to  his  den, 
He  left  me  blind  to  the  darkened  years  and  the  little  mercy  of 
men. 

"  Now  ye  go  down  in  the  morning  with  guns  of  the  newer 

style. 
That  load  (I  have  felt)  in  the  middle  and  range  (I  have  heard) 

a  mile? 
Luck  to  the  white  man's  rifle,  that  shoots  so  fast  and  true. 
But  —  pay,  and  I  lift  my  bandage  and  show  what  the  Bear 

can  do !  " 

(Flesh  like  slag  in  the  furnace,  knobbed  and  withered  and 

grey  — 
Matun,  the  old  blind  beggar,  he  gives  good  worth  for  his 

pay.) 

"  Rouse  him   at  noon  in  the  bushes,   follow   and   press   him 

hard  — 
Not  for  his  ragings  and  roarings  flinch  ye  from  Adam-zad. 

"  But  (pay,  and  I  put  back  the  bandage)  this  is  the  time  to 

fear, 
When  he  stands  up  like  a  tired  man,  tottering  near  and  near ; 
When  he  stands  up  as  pleading,  in  wavering,  man-brute  guise. 
When  he  veils  the  hate  and  cunning  of  the  little,  swinish  eyes ; 

"  When  he  shows  as  seeking  quarter,  with  paws  like  hands  in 

prayer. 
That  is  the  time  of  peril  —  the  time  of  the  Truce  of  the  Bear !  " 


182  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Eyeless,  noseless,  and  lipless,  asking  a  dole  at  the  door, 
Matun,  the  old  blind  beggar,  he  tells  it  o'er  and  o'er ; 
Fumbling  and  feeling  the  rifles,  warming  his  hands  at  the 

flame. 
Hearing  our  careless  white  men  talk  of  the  morrow's  game ; 

Over  and  over  the  story,  ending  as  he  began :  — 
"  There  is  no  truce  with  Adam-zad,  the  Bear  that  looks  like  a 
man! " 


THE  PEACE   OF  DIVES 

1903 

1  HE  Word  came  down  to  Dives  in  Torment  where  he  lay: 
"  Our  World  is  full  of  wickedness.  My  Children  maim  and 
slay, 
"  And  the  Saint  and  Seer  and  Prophet 
"  Can  make  no  better  of  it 
"  Than  to  sanctify  and  prophesy  and  pray. 

"  Rise  up,  rise  up,  thou  Dives,  and  take  again  thy  gold, 

"  And  thy  women  and  thy  housen  as  they  were  to  thee  of  old. 

"  It  may  be  grace  hath  found  thee 

"  In  the  furnace  where  We  bound  thee, 
"  And  that  thou  shalt  bring  the  peace  My  Son  foretold." 

Then  merrily  rose  Dives  and  leaped  from  out  his  fire, 
And  walked  abroad  with  diligence  to  do  the  Lord's  desire; 

And  anon  the  battles  ceased. 

And  the  captives  were  released, 
And  Earth  had  rest  from  Goshen  to  Gadlrc. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  183 

The  Word  came  down  to  Satan  that  raged  and  roared  alone, 
'Mid  the  shouting  of  the  peoples  by  the  cannon  overthrown 

(But  the  Prophets,  Saints,  and  Seers 

Set  each  other  by  the  ears, 
For  each  would  claim  the  marvel  as  his  own) : 

"  Rise  up,  rise  up,  thou  Satan,  upon  the  Earth  to  go, 
"  And  prove  the  Peace  of  Dives  if  it  be  good  or  no : 

"  For  all  that  he  hath  planned 

"  We  deliver  to  thy  hand, 
"  As  thy  skill  shall  serve,  to  break  it  or  bring  low." 

Then  mightily  rose  Satan,  and  about  the  Earth  he  hied. 
And  breathed  on  Kings  in  idleness  and  Princes  drunk  with 
pride ; 

But  for  all  the  wrong  he  breathed 

There  was  never  sword  unsheathed. 
And  the  fires  he  lighted  flickered  out  and  died. 

Then  terribly  rose  Satan,  and  he  darkened  Earth  afar, 
Till  he  came  on  cunning  Dives  where  the  money-changers  are ; 

And  he  saw  men  pledge  their  gear 

For  the  gold  that  buys  the  spear. 
And  the  helmet  and  the  habergeon  of  war. 

Yea   to   Dives   came   the  Persian   and   the   Syrian   and   the 

Mede  — 
And  their  hearts  were  nothing  altered,  nor  their  cunning  nor 
their  greed  — 
And  they  pledged  their  flocks  and  farms 
For  the  King-compelling  aiTns, 
And  Dives  lent  according  to  their  need. 

Then  Satan  said  to  Dives :  —  "  Return  again  with  me, 
"  Who  hast  broken  His  Commandment  in  the  day  He  set  thee 
free, 


184.  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

"  Who  grindest  for  thj  greed, 
"  Man's  bellj-pinch  and  need ; 
"  And  the  blood  of  Man  to  filthy  usury !  " 

Then  softly  answered  Dives  where  the  money-changers  sit :  — 
"  My  refuge  is  Our  Master,  O  My  Master  in  the  Pit ; 

"  But  behold  all  Earth  is  laid 

"  In  the  Peace  which  I  have  made, 
"  And  behold  I  wait  on  thee  to  trouble  it !  " 

Then  angrily  turned  Satan,  and  about  the  Seas  he  fled, 
To  shake  the  new-sown  peoples  with  insult,  doubt,  and  dread ; 

But  for  all  the  sleight  he  used 

There  was  never  squadron  loosed. 
And  the  brands  he  flung  flew  dying  and  fell  dead. 

Yet  to  Dives  came  Atlantis  and  the  Captains  of  the  West  — 
And  their  hates  were  nothing  weakened  nor  their  anger  nor 
unrest  — 

And  they  pawned  their  utmost  trade 

For  the  dry,  decreeing  blade ; 
And  Dives  lent  and  took  of  them  their  best. 

Then  Satan  said  to  Dives :  —  "  Declare  thou  by  The  Name, 
"  The  secret  of  thy  subtlety  that  turneth  mine  to  shame. 

"  It  is  known  through  all  the  Hells 

"  How  my  peoples  mocked  my  spells, 
*'  And  my  faithless  Kings  denied  me  ere  I  came." 

Then  answered  cunning  Dives :   "  Do  not  gold  and  hate  abide 
"  At  the  heart  of  e\ery  Magic,  yea,  and  senseless  fear  beside? 

"  With  gold  and  fear  and  hate 

"  I  have  harnessed  state  to  state, 
"  And  with  hate  and  fear  and  gold  their  hates  are  tied. 

"  For  hate  men  seek  a  weapon,  for  fear  they  seek  a  shield  — 
"  Keener  blades  and  broader  targes  than  their  frantic  neigh- 
bours wield  — 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  185 

"  For  gold  I  arm  their  hands, 
"  And  for  gold  I  buy  their  lands, 
"  And  for  gold  I  sell  their  enemies  the  yield. 

"  Their  nearest  foes  may  purchase,  or  their  furthest  friends 

may  lease, 
"  One  by  one  from  Ancient  Accad  to  the  Islands  of  the  Seas. 

"  And  their  covenants  they  make 

"  For  the  naked  iron's  sake, 
"  But  I  —  I  trap  them  armoured  into  peace. 

"  The  flocks  that  Egypt  pledged  me  to  Assyria  I  drave, 
"  And  Pharaoh  hath  the  increase  of  the  herds  that  Sargon 
gave. 

"  Not  for  Ashdod  overthrown 

"  Will  the  Kings  destroy  their  own, 
"  Or  their  peoples  wake  the  strife  they  feign  to  brave. 

"Is   not   Calno   like   Carchemish.?     For  the   steeds   of   their 

desire 
"  They  have  sold  me  seven  harvests  that  I  sell  to  Crowning 

Tyre; 

"  And  the  Tyrian  sweeps  the  plains 
"  With  a  thousand  hired  wains, 
"  And  the  Cities  keep  the  peace  and  —  share  the  hire. 

"  Hast  thou  seen  the  pride  of  Moab?    For  the  swords  about  his 

path, 
"  His  bond  is  to  Philistia,  in  half  of  all  he  hath. 

"  And  he  dare  not  draw  the  sword 

"  Till  Gaza  give  the  word, 
"  And  he  show  release  from  Askalon  and  Gath. 

"  Wilt  thou  call  again  thy  peoples,  wilt  thou  craze  anew  thy 

Kings  ? 
"Lo!    my  lightnings  pass  before  thee,  and  their  whistling 

servant  brings, 


186  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

"  Ere  the  drowsy  street  hath  stirred  — 
"  Every  masked  and  midnight  word, 
"  And  the  nations  break  their  fast  upon  these  things. 

"  So  I  make  a  jest  of  Wonder,  and  a  mock  of  Time  and  Space, 
"  The  roofless  Seas  an  hostel,  and  the  Earth  a  market-place, 

"  Where  the  anxious  traders  know 

"  Each  is  surety  for  his  foe, 
"  And  none  may  thrive  without  his  fellows'  grace. 

"  Now  this  is  all  my  subtlety  and  this  is  all  my  wit, 

"  God  give  thee  good  enlightenment.  My  Master  in  the  Pit. 

"  But  behold  all  Earth  is  laid 

"  In  the  Peace  which  I  have  made, 
*'  And  behold  I  wait  on  thee  to  trouble  it !  " 


AN  IMPERIAL  RESCRIPT 
1890 

JN  OW  this  is  the  tale  of  the  Council  the  German  Kaiser 

decreed. 
To  ease  the  strong  of  their  burden,  to  help  the  weak  in  their 

need, 
He  sent  a  word  to  the  peoples,  who  struggle,  and  pant,  and 

sweat. 
That  the  straw  might  be  counted  fairly  and  the  tally  of  bricks 

be  set. 

The  Lords  of  Their  Hands  assembled ;   from  the  East  and  the 

West  they  drew  — 
Baltimore,  Lille,  and  Essen,  Brummagem,  Clyde,  and  Crewe. 
And  some  were  black  from  the  furnace,  and  some  were  brown 

from  the  soil, 
And  some  were  blue  from  the  dye-vat ;  but  all  were  wearied  of 

toil. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  187 

And  the  young  King  said:  —  "  I  have  found  it,  the  road  to 
the  rest  ye  seek : 

"  The  strong  shall  wait  for  the  weary,  the  hale  shall  halt  for 
the  weak ; 

"  With  the  even  tramp  of  an  army  where  no  man  breaks  from 
the  line, 

"  Ye  shall  march  to  peace  and  plenty  in  the  bond  of  brother- 
hood —  sign !  " 

The  paper  lay  on  the  table,  the  strong  heads  bowed  thereby. 
And  a  wail  went  up  from  the  peoples :  —  "  Ay,  sign  —  give 

rest,  for  we  die !  " 
A  hand  was  stretched  to  the  goose-quill,  a  fist  was  cramped  to 

scrawl. 

When the  laugh  of  a  blue-eyed  maiden  ran  clear  through 

the  council-hall. 

And  each   one  heard   Her   laughing   as   each   one   saw   Her 

plain  — 
Saidie,  Mimi,  or  Olga,  Gretchen,  or  ^Iary--Iaac- 
And  the  Spirit  of  Man  That  is  in  Him  to  the  hght  of  the 

vision  woke ; 
And  the  men  drew  back  from  the  paper,  as  a  Yankee  delegate 

spoke : — 

"  There  's  a  girl  in  Jersey  City  who  works  on  the  telephone ; 
"  We  're  going  to  hitch  our  horses  and  dig  for  a  house  of  our 

own, 
"  With  gas  and  water  connections,  and  steam  heat  through  to 

the  top ;  .         ,        „ 

"  And,  W.  Hohenzollem,  I  guess  I  shall  work  till  I  drop. 

And  an  English  delegate  thundered :  —  "  The  weak  an'  the 

lame  be  blowed ! 
"  I  've  a  berth  in  the  Sou'-West  workshops,  a  home  m  the 

Wandsworth  Road; 
"  And  till  the  'sociation  has  footed  my  buryin'  bill, 
"  I  work  for  the  kids  an'  the  missus.    Pull  up  !  I  '11  be  damned 

if  I  will  1  " 


188  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

And  over  the  German  benches  the  bearded  whisper  ran :  — 
"  Lager,  der  girls  und  der  dollars,  dej  makes  or  dey  breaks 

a  man. 
"  If   Schmitt  haf  collared  der   dollars,   he   collars   der   girl 

deremit ; 
"  But  if  Schmitt  bust  in  der  pizness,  we  collars  der  girl  from 

Schmitt." 

They  passed  one  resolution :  —  "  Your  sub-committee  believe 
*'  You   can   lighten   the   curse   of  Adam  when  jou  Ve   lifted 

the  curse  of  Eve. 
"  But  till  we  are  built  like  angels,  with  hammer  and  chisel 

and  pen, 
"  We  will  work  for  ourself  and  a  woman,  for  ever  and  ever, 

amen." 

Now  this  is  the  tale  of  the  Council  the  German  Kaiser  held  — 
The  day  that  they  razored  the  Grindstone,  the  day  that  the 

Cat  was  belled, 
The  day  of  the  Figs  from  Thistles,  the  da^^  of  the  Twisted 

Sands, 
The  day  that  the  laugh  of  a  maiden  made  light  of  the  Lords  of 

Their  Hands. 


ET  DONA  FERENTES 

1896 

In  extended  observation  of  the  ways  and  works  of  man. 

From  the  Four-mile  Radius  roughly  to  the  plains  of  Hin- 
dustan : 

I  have  drunk  with  mixed  assemblies,  seen  the  racial  ruction 
rise, 

And  the  men  of  half  creation  damning  half  creation's  eyes. 


RUDYARD    KIPLING  189 

I  have  watched  them  in  their  tantrums,  all  that  pentecostal 

i  French'ltalian,  Arab,  Spaniard,  Dutch  and  Greek,  and  Uuss 

and  Jew,  , 

Celt  and  savage,  buff  and  ochre,  cream  and  yellow,  mauve  and 

white.  ,,  -  vi. 

But  it  never  really  mattered  tiU  the  English  grew  polite; 

Till  the  men  with  polished  toppers,  till  the  men  in  long  frock- 

coats,  -  ^L^  ir         r. 

Till  the  men  that  do  not  duel,  tlUibe  m_en  whowar  ^'t^t^s, 
TUl  the  breed  that  take  their  pleasures  as  Saiiit-twrCTTrtrtoDk 

Began^to  "'^g  your  pardon  "  and  -  the  knowing  croupier 


hid. 


Then  the  bandsmen  with  their  fiddles,  and  the  girls  that  bring 

the  beer,  .     ,.         •        , 

Felt  the  psychologic  moment,  left  the  ht  casmo  clear ; 
But  the  u instructed  ahen,  from  the  Teuton  to  the  Gaul, 
Was  entrapped,  once  more,  my  country,  by  that  suave,  decep- 

tive  drawl. 

As  it  was  in  ancient  Suez  or  'neath  wUder,  milder  skies, 
t"  observe  with  apprehension  "  when  the  racial  ructions  rise , 
And  with  keener  apprehension,  if  I  read  the  times  angbt, 
Hear  the  old  casino  order:  "  Watch  your  man,  but  be  polite. 

"  Keep  your  temper.    Never  answer  (tliat  was  why  they  spat 

and  swore).  ,   .     ,, 

Don't  hit  first,  but  move  together  (there 's  no  hurry)  to  the 

Back  ttback,  and  facing  outward  while  the  linguist  tells  'em 

« NousZvmes  allong  a  notre  baiteau,  nous  ne  voulong  pas 


un  row,''  " 


190  COLLECTED     VERSE 

So  the  hard,  pent  rage  ate  inward,  till  some  idiot  went  too 

far  .   .  . 
"  Let  'em  have  it !  "  and  thej  had  it,  and  the  same  was  merry 

war. 
Fist,  umbrella,  cane,  decanter,  lamp  and  beer-mug,  chair  and 

boot  — 
Till  behind  the  fleeing  legions  rose  the  long,  hoarse  yell  for 

loot. 

Then  the  oil-cloth  with  its  numbers,  like  a  banner  fluttered 

free; 
Then  the  grand  piano  cantered,  on  three  castors,  down  the 

quay; 
White,  and  breathing  through  their  nostrils,  silent,  systematic, 

swift  — 
They  removed,  eifaced,  abolished  all  that  man  could  heave  or 

lift. 

Oh,  my  country,  bless  the  training  that  from  cot  to  castle 

runs  — 
The  pitfall  of  the  stranger  but  the  bulwark  of  thy  sons  — 
Measured    speech    and    ordered    action,    sluggish    soul    and 

unperturbed. 
Till  we  wake  our  Island-Devil  —  nowise  cool  for  being  curbed ! 

When  the  heir  of  all  the  ages  "  has  the  honour  to  remain," 
When  he  will  not  hear  an  insult,  though  men  make  it  ne'er  so 

plain. 
When  his  lips  are  schooled  to  meekness,  when  his  back  is  bowed 

to  blows  — 
Well  the  keen  aas-vogels  know  it  —  well  the  waiting  jackal 

knows. 

Build  on  the  flanks  of  Etna  where  the  sullen  smoke-puff's  float — 
Or  bathe  in  tropic  waters  where  the  lean  fin  dogs  the  boat  — 
Cock  the  gun  that  is  not  loaded,  cook  the  frozen  dynamite  — 
But  oh,  beware  my  country,  when  my  country  grows  polite ! 


SERVICE   SONGS 

SOUTH  AFRICAN   WAR 

1900-1902 


BEFORE   A   MIDNIGHT   BREAKS 
IN   STORM 

1903 


JdEFORE  a  midnight  breaks  in  storm^ 

Or  herded  sea  in  wrath. 
Ye  know  what  wavering  gusts  inform 
The  greater  tempest's  path  ? 
Till  the  loosed  wind 
Drive  all  from  mind. 
Except  Distress,  which,  so  will  prophets  cry. 
Overcame  them,  houseless,  from  the  unhinting  sky. 

Ere  rivers  league  against  the  land 

In  piratry  of  flood, 
Ye  know  what  waters  slip  and  stand 
Where  seldom  water  stood. 
Yet  who  will  note. 
Till  fields  afloat. 
And  washen  carcass  and  the  returning  well. 
Trumpet  what  these  poor  heralds  strove  to  tell  ? 

Ye  know  who  use  the  Crystal  Ball 

{To  peer  by  stealth  on  Doom), 
The  Shade  that,  shaping  first  of  all. 
Prepares  an  empty  room. 
Then  doth  It  pass 
Like  breath  from  glass. 
But,  on  the  extorted  vision  bowed  intent. 
No  man  considers  why  It  came  or  went. 

13 


194  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Before  the  years  reborn  behold 

Themselves  with  stranger  eye. 
And  the  s port-making  Gods  of  old. 
Like  Samson  slaying^  die. 
Many  shall  hear 
The  all-pregnant  sphere. 
Bow  to  the  birth  and  sweat,  but  —  speech  denied  — 
Sit  dumb  or  —  dealt  in  part  —  fall  weak  and  wide. 

Yet  instant  to  fore-shadowed  need 

The  eternal  balance  swings; 
That  winged  men  the  Fates  may  breed 
So  soon  as  Fate  hath  wings. 
These  shall  possess 
Our  littleness. 
And  in  the  imperial  task  (as  worthy)  lay 
Up  our  lives'  all  to  piece  one  giant  day. 


THE  BELL  BUOY 

1896 

1  HEY  christened  my  brother  of  old  — 

And  a  saintly  name  he  bears  — 
They  gave  him  his  place  to  hold 

At  the  head  of  the  belfry-stairs, 

Where  the  minster-towers  stand 
And  the  breeding  kestrels  cry. 

Would  I  change  with  my  brother  a  league  inland? 
(Shoal!   'Ware  shoal!)    Not  I! 

In  the  flush  of  the  hot  June  prime, 

O'er  smooth  flood-tides  afire, 
I  hear  him  hurry  the  chime 

To  the  bidding  of  checked  Desire; 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  195 

Till  the  sweated  ringers  tire 
And  the  wild  bob-majors  die. 

Could  I  wait  for  my  turn  in  the  godly  choir? 
{Shoal!    'Ware  shoal!)    Not  I! 

When  the  smoking  scud  is  blown, 

When  the  greasy  wind-rack  lowers, 
Apart  and  at  peace  and  alone, 

He  counts  the  changeless  hours. 

He  wars  with  darkling  Powers 
(I  war  with  a  darkling  sea)  ; 

Would  he  stoop  to  my  work  in  the  gusty  mirk? 
{Shoal!   'Ware  shoal!)    Not  he! 

There  was  never  a  priest  to  pray, 

There  was  never  a  hand  to  toll, 
When  they  made  me  guard  of  the  bay, 

And  moored  me  over  the  shoal. 

I  rock,  I  reel,  and  I  roll  — 
My  four  great  hammers  ply  — 

Could  I  speak  or  be  still  at  the  Church's  will? 
{Shoal!   'Ware  shoal!)    Not  I! 

The  landward  marks  have  failed. 

The  fog-bank  glides  ungues sed, 
The  seaward  lights  are  veiled. 

The  spent  deep  feigns  her  rest: 

But  my  ear  is  laid  to  her  breast, 
I  lift  to  the  swell  —  I  cry ! 

Could  I  wait  in  sloth  on  the  Church's  oath? 
{Shoal!   'Ware  shoal!)    Not  I! 

At  the  careless  end  of  night 

I  thrill  to  the  nearing  screw; 
I  turn  in  the  clearing  light 

And  I  call  to  the  drowsy  crev/; 


196  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

And  the  mud  boils  foul  and  blue 
As  the  bhnd  bow  backs  away. 

Will  they  give  me  their  thanks  if  they  clear  the  banks? 
(Shoal!    Ware  shoal!)    Not  they! 

The  beach-pools  cake  and  skim, 

The  bursting  spray-heads  freeze, 
I  gather  on  crown  and  rim 

The  grey,  grained  ice  of  the  seas, 

Where,  sheathed  from  bitt  to  trees. 
The  plunging  colliers  lie. 

Would  I  barter  my  place  for  the  Church's  grace.? 
(Shoal!   Ware  shoal!)    Not  I! 

Through  the  blur  of  the  whirhng  snow, 

Or  the  black  of  the  inky  sleet. 
The  lanterns  gather  and  grow, 

And  I  look  for  the  homeward  fleet. 

Rattle  of  block  and  sheet  — 
"  Ready  about  —  stand  by !  " 

Shall  I  ask  them  a  fee  ere  they  fetch  the  quay.? 
(Shoal!   Ware  shoal!)    Not  I! 

I  dip  and  I  surge  and  I  swing 

In  the  rip  of  the  racing  tide. 
By  the  gates  of  doom  I  sing. 

On  the  horns  of  death  I  ride. 

A  ship-length  overside, 
Between  the  course  and  the  sand, 

Fretted  and  bound  I  bide 
Peril  whereof  I  cry. 

Would  I  change  with  my  brother  a  league  inland? 
(Shoal!  Ware  shoal!)    Not  I! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  197 

THE  OLD   ISSUE 

October  9,  1899 

11  ERE  is  nothing  new  nor  aught   unproven,''  say   the 

Trumpets, 
*'  Many  feet  hove  worn  it  and  the  road  is  old  indeed. 
"  It  is  the  King  —  the  King  we  schooled  aforetime!  " 

{Trumpets  in  the  marshes  —  in  the  eyot  at  Runnymede!) 

"  Here   is   neither   haste,    nor   hate,    nor   anger,'*   peal    the 
Trumpets, 
**  Pardon  for  his  penitence  or  pity  for  his  fall, 
"  It  is  the  King!  "  —  inexorable  Trumpets  — 

{Trumpets  round  the  scaffold  at  the  dawning  by  White- 
hall!) 
•  •••■•• 

"  He  hath  veiled  the  crown  and  hid  the  sceptre,''  warn  the 
Trumpets, 
"  He  hath  changed  the  fashion  of  the  lies  that  cloak  his 
will. 
"  Hard  die  the  Kings  —  ah  hard  —  dooms  hard!  "  declare 
the  Trumpets, 
Trumpets  at  the  gang-plank  where  the  brawling  troop- 
decks  fill! 

Ancient  and  Unteachable,  abide  —  abide  the  trumpets! 
Once  again  the  Trumpets,  for  the  shuddering  ground-swell 
brings 
Clamour  over  ocean  of  the  harsh  pursuing  Trumpets  — 
Trumpets  of  the  Vanguard  that  have  sworn  no  truce  with 
Kings! 

All  we  have  of  freedom,  all  we  use  or  know  — 
This  our  fathers  bought  for  us  long  and  long  ago. 


198  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Ancient  Right  unnoticed  as  the  breath  we  draw  — 
Leave  to  live  by  no  man's  leave,  underneath  the  Law. 

Lance  and  torch  and  tumult,  steel  and  grey-goose  wing 
Wrenched  it,  inch  and  ell  and  all,  slowly  from  the  King. 

Till  our  fathers  'stabHshed,  after  bloody  years. 
How  our  King  is  one  with  us,  first  among  his  peers. 

So  they  bought  us  freedom  —  not  at  little  cost  — 
Wherefore  must  we  watch  the  King,  lest  our  gain  be  lost. 

Over  all  things  certain,  this  is  sure  indeed, 
Suffer  not  the  old  King :   for  we  know  the  breed. 

Give  no  ear  to  bondsmen  bidding  us  endure. 

Whining  "  He  is  weak  and  far  " ;  crying  "  Time  shall  cure." 

(Time  himself  is  witness,  till  the  battle  joins. 
Deeper  strikes  the  rottenness  in  the  people's  loins.) 

Give  no  heed  to  bondsmen  masking  war  with  peace. 
Suffer  not  the  old  King  here  or  overseas. 

They  that  beg  us  barter  —  wait  his  yielding  mood  — 
Pledge   the  years   we  hold   in   trust  —  pawn   our   brother's 
blood  — 

Howso'  great  their  clamour,  whatsoe'er  their  claim, 
Suffer  not  the  old  King  under  any  name! 

Here  is  naught  unproven  —  here  is  naught  to  learn. 
It  is  written  what  shall  fall  if  the  King  return. 

He  shall  mark  our  goings,  question  whence  we  came, 
Set  his  guards  about  us,  as  in  Freedom's  name. 

He  shall  take  a  tribute,  toll  of  all  our  ware; 

He  shall  change  our  gold  for  arms  —  arms  we  may  not  bear. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  199 

He  shall  break  his  Judges  if  they  cross  his  word; 
He  shall  rule  above  the  Law  calling  on  the  Lord. 

He  shall  peep  and  mutter;    and  the  night  shall  bring 
Watchers  'neath  our  window,  lest  we  mock  the  King  — 

Hate  and  all  division ;    hosts  of  hurrying  spies ; 
Money  poured  in  secret,  carrion  breeding  flies. 

Strangers  of  his  counsel,  hirelings  of  his  pay. 
These  shall  deal  our  Justice :    sell  —  deny  —  delay. 

We  shall  drink  dishonour,  we  shall  eat  abuse 

For  the  Land  we  look  to  —  for  the  Tongue  we  use. 

We  shall  take  our  station,  dirt  beneath  his  feet. 
While  his  hired  captains  jeer  us  in  the  street. 

Cruel  in  the  shadow,  crafty  in  the  sun, 

Far  beyond  his  borders  shall  his  teachings  run. 

Sloven,  sullen,  savage,  secret,  uncontrolled  — 
Laying  on  a  new  land  evil  of  the  old; 

Long-forgotten  bondage,  dwarfing  heart  and  bram  — 
All  our  fathers  died  to  loose  he  shall  bind  again. 

Here  is  naught  at  venture,  random  nor  untrue  — 
Swings  the  wheel  full-circUy  brims  the  cup  anew. 

Here  is  naught  unproven,  here  is  nothing  hid: 

Step  for  step  and  word  for  word  —  so  the  old  Kings  did! 

Step  hy  step,  and  word  by  word:  who  is  ruled  may  read. 
Suffer  not  the  old  Kings  —  for  we  know  the  breed  — 

All  the  right  they  promise  —  all  the  wrong  they  bring. 
Stewards  of  the  Judgment,  suffer  not  this  King! 


wo  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

THE   LESSON 

(1899-1902) 

/  jET  us  admit  it  fairly^  as  a  business  people  should^ 

We  have  had  no  end  of  a  lesson:  it  will  do  us  no  end  of  good. 

Not  on  a  single  issue,  or  in  one  direction  or  twain, 

But    conclusively,    comprehensively,   and    several   times    and 

again. 
Were  all  our  most  holy  illusions  knocked  higher  than  Gilde- 

roy's  kite. 
We  have  had  a  jolly  good  lesson,  and  it  serves  us  jolly  well 

right ! 

This  was  not  bestowed  us  under  the  trees,  nor  yet  in  the  shade 
of  a  tent, 

But  swingingly,  over  eleven  degrees  of  a  bare  brown  conti- 
nent. 

From  Lamberts  to  Delagoa  Bay,  and  from  Pietersburg  to 
Sutherland, 

Fell  the  phenomenal  lesson  we  learned  —  with  a  fulness  ac- 
corded no  other  land. 

It  was   our  fault,   and  our  very   great   fault,   and  not  the 

judgment  of  Heaven. 
We  made  an  Army  in  our  own  image,  on  an  island  nine  by 

seven, 
Which  faithfully  mirrored  its  makers'  ideals,  equipment,  and 

mental  attitude  — 
And  so  we  got  our  lesson :    and  we  ought  to  accept  it  with 

gratitude. 

We  have  spent  two  hundred  million  pounds  to  prove  the  fact 

once  more. 
That  horses  are  quicker  than  men  afoot,  since  two  and  two 

make  four: 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  201 

And  horses  have  four  legs,  and  men  have  two  legs,  and  two 

into  four  goes  twice, 
And  nothing  over  except  our  lesson  —  and  very  cheap  at  the 

price. 

For  remember  (tliis  our  children  shall  know:   we  are  too  near 

for  that  knowledge) 
Not  our  mere  astonicd  camps,  but  Council  and  Creed  and 

College  — 
All  the  obese,  unchallenged  old  things  that  stifle  and  overhe 

us  — 
Have  felt  the  effects  of  the  lesson  we  got  —  an  advantage  no 
money  could  buy  us ! 

Then  let  us  develop  this  marvellous   asset  which  we  alone 

command. 
And  which,  it  may  subsequently  transpire,  will  be  worth  as 

much  as  the  Rand: 
Let  us  approach  this  pivotal  fact  in  a  humble  yet  hopeful 

mood  — 
We  have  had  no  end  of  a  lesson :  it  will  do  us  no  end  of  good ! 

It  was  our  fault,  and  our  very  great  fault  —    and  now  we 

must  turn  it  to  use; 
We  have  forty  million  reasons  for  failure,  but  not  a  single 

excuse ! 
So  the  more  we  work  and  the  less  we  talk  the  better  results 

we  shall  get  — 
We  have  had  an  Imperial  lesson ;   it  may  make  us  an  Empire 

yet! 


S02  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

THE  ISLANDERS 

1902 

iSI 0  doubt  hut  ye  are  the  People  —  your  throne  is  above  the 

King's. 
Whoso  speaks  in  your  presence  must  say  acceptable  things: 
Bowing  the  head  in  worship,  bending  the  knee  in  fear  — 
Bringing  the  word  well  smoothen  —  such  as  a  King  should 

hear. 

Fenced  by  your  careful  fathers,  ringed  by  your  leaden  seas, 

Long  did  ye  wake  in  quiet  and  long  lie  down  at  ease ; 

Till  ye  said  of  Strife,  "  What  is  it?  "  of  the  Sword,  "  It  is  far 

from  our  ken  "  ; 
Till  ye  made  a  sport  of  your  shrunken  hosts  and  a  toy  of  your 

armed  men. 
Ye  stopped  your  ears  to  the  warning  —  ye  would  neither 

look  nor  heed  — 
Ye  set  your  leisure  before  their  toil  and  your  lusts  above  their 

need. 
Because  of  your  witless  learning  and  your  beasts  of  warren 

and  chase, 
Ye  grudged  your  sons  to  their  service  and  your  fields  for  their 

camping-place. 
Ye  forced  them  glean  in  the  highways  the  straw  for  the  bricks 

they  brought ; 
Ye  forced  them  follow  in  byways  the  craft  that  ye  never 

taught. 
Ye  hindered  and  hampered  and  crippled;    ye  thrust  out  of 

sight  and  away 
Those  that  would  serve  you  for  honour  and  those  that  served 

you  for  pay; 
Then  were  the  judgments  loosened  ;    then  was  your  shame 

revealed, 
At  the  hands  of  a  little  people,  few  but  apt  in  tlie  field. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  203 

Yet  ye  were   saved   by   a   remnant    (and  your   land's   long- 
suffering  star), 
When  your  strong  men  cheered  in  their  millions  while  your 

striplings  went  to  the  war. 
Sons  of  the  sheltered  city  —  unmade,  unhandled,  unmeet  — 
Ye  pushed  them  raw  to  the  battle  as  ye  picked  them  raw  from 

the  street. 
And   what   did   ye    look   they    should   compass.?      Warcraft 

learned  in  a  breath. 
Knowledge  unto  occasion  at  the  first  far  view  of  Death? 
So !     And  ye  train  your  horses  and  the  dogs  ye  feed  and 

prize.? 
How  are  the  beasts  more  worthy  than  the  souls  your  sacrifice.? 
But  ye  said,  "  Their  valour  shall  show  them  " ;  but  ye  said, 

"  The  end  is  close." 
And  ye  sent  them  comfits  and  pictures  to  help  them  harry 

your  foes. 
And  ye  vaunted  your  fathomless  power,  and  ye  flaunted  your 

iron  pride. 
Ere  —  ye  fawned  on  the  Younger  Nations  for  the  men  who 

could  shoot  and  ride! 
Then  ye  returned  to  your  trinkets ;   then  ye  contented  your 

souls 
With  the  flannelled  fools  at  the  wicket  or  the  muddied  oafs  at 

the  goals. 
Given  to  strong  delusion,  wholly  believing  a  lie. 
Ye  saw  that  the  land  lay  fenceless,  and  ye  let  the  months  go 

Waiting  some  easy  wonder :   hoping  some  saving  sign  — 
Idle  —  openly  idle  —  in  the  lee  of  the  forespent  Line. 
Idle  —  except  for  your  boasting  —  and  what  is  your  boast- 
ing worth 
If  ye  grudge  a  year  of  service  to  the  lordliest  hfe  on  earth? 
Ancient,  effortless,  ordered,  cycle  on  cycle  set, 
Life  so  long  untroubled,  that  ye  who  inherit  forget 
It  was  not  made  with  the  mountains,  it  is  not  one  with  the 
deep. 


204  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

iMen,  not  gods,  devised  it.     Men,  not  gods,  must  keep. 
Men,  not  children,  servants,  or  kinsfolk  called  from  afar. 
But  each  man  born  in  the  Island  broke  to  the  matter  of  war. 
Soberly  and  by  custom  taken  and  trained  for  the  same; 
Each  man  born  in  the  Island  entered  at  youth  to  the  game  — 
As  it  were  almost  cricket,  not  to  be  mastered  in  haste. 
But  after  trial  and  labour,  by  temperance,  living  chaste. 
As  it  were  almost  cricket  —  as  it  were  even  your  play. 
Weighed  and  pondered  and  worsliipped,  and  practised  day 

and  day. 
So  ye  shall  bide  sure-guarded  when  the  restless  lightnings 

wake 
In  the  womb  of  the  blotting  war-cloud,  and  the  pallid  nations 

quake. 
So,  at  the  haggard  trumpets,  instant  your  soul  shall  leap 
Forthright,  accoutred,  accepting  —  alert  from  the  wells  of 

sleep. 
So  at  the  threat  ye  shall  summon  —  so  at  the  need  ye  shall 

send 
Men,  not  children  or  servants,  tempered  and  taught  to  the 

end; 
Cleansed  of  servile  panic,  slow  to  dread  or  despise, 
Humble  because  of  knowledge,  mighty  by  sacrifice.   .   .   . 
But  ye  say,  "  It  will  mar  our  comfort."     Ye  say,  "  It  will 

minish  our  trade." 
Do  ye  wait  for  the  spattered  shrapnel  ere  ye  learn  how  a  gun 

is  laid? 
For  the  low,  red  glare  to  southward  when  the  raided  coast- 
towns  burn? 
(Light  ye  shall  have  on  that  lesson,  but  little  time  to  learn.) 
Will  ye  pitch  some  white  pavilion,  and  lustily  even  the  odds, 
With  nets  and  hoops  and  mallets,  with  rackets  and  bats  and 

rods? 
Will  the  rabbit  war  with  your  foemen  —  the  red  deer  horn 

them  for  hire? 
Your  kept  cock-pheasant  keep  you?  —  he  is  master  of  many 

a  shire. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  205 

Arid,  aloof,  incurious,  unthinking,  unthanking,  gelt. 

Will  ye  loose  your  schools  to  flout  them  till  their  brow-beat 

columns  melt? 
Will  ye  pray  them  or  preach  them,  or  print  them,  or  ballot 

them  back  from  your  shore? 
Will  your  workmen  issue  a  mandate  to  bid  them  strike  no 

more? 
Will  ye  rise  and  dethrone  your  rulers?     (Because  ye  were  idle 

both? 
Pride  by  Insolence  chastened?     Indolence  purged  by  Sloth?) 
No  doubt  but  ye  are  the  People;   who  shall  make  you  afraid? 
Also  your  gods  are  many ;   no  doubt  but  your  gods  shall  aid. 
Idols  of  greasy  altars  built  for  the  body's  ease ; 
Proud  little  brazen  Baals  and  talking  fetishes ; 
Teraphs  of  sept  and  party  and  wise  wood-pavement  gods  — 
These  shall  come  down  to  the  battle  and  snatch  you  from 

under  the  rods? 
From   the    gusty,    flickering   gun-roll   with   viewless    salvoes 

rent, 
And  the  pitted  hail  of  the  bullets  that  tell  not  whence  they 

were  sent. 
When  ye  are  ringed  as  with  iron,  when  ye  are  scourged  as 

with  whips. 
When  the  meat  is  yet  in  your  belly,  and  the  boast  is  yet  on 

your  lips ; 
When  ye   go  forth  at  morning   and  the  noon  beholds   you 

broke. 
Ere  ye  lie  down  at  even,  your  remnant,  under  the  yoke? 

No  doubt  hut  ye  are  the  People  —  absolute,  strong,  and  wise; 
Whatever  your  heart  has  desired  ye  have  not  withheld  from 

your  eyes. 
On  your  own  headsy  in  your  own  hands,  the  sin  and  the  saving 

lies! 


206  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

THE  DYKES 

1902 

W  E  have  no  heart  for  the  fishing,  we  have  no  hand  for  the 

oar  — 
All  that  our  fathers  taught  us  of  old  pleases  us  now  no  more ; 
All  that  our  own  hearts  bid  us  believe  we  doubt  where  we  do 

not  deny  — 
There  is  no  proof  in  the  bread  we  eat  or  rest  in  the  toil  we 

ply- 
Look   you,   our   foreshore    stretches   far   through   sea-gate, 

dyke,  and  groin  — 
Made  land  all,  that  our  fathers  made,  where  the  flats  and  the 

fairv/ay  join. 
They  forced  the  sea  a  sea-league  back.     They  died,  and  their 

work  stood  fast. 
We  were  born  to  peace  in  the  lee  of  the  dykes,  but  the  time 

of  our  peace  is  past. 

Far  off,  the  full  tide  clambers  and  slips,  mouthing  and  testing 
all. 

Nipping  the  flanks  of  the  water-gates,  baying  along  the  wall ; 

Turning  the  shingle,  returning  the  shingle,  changing  the  set 
of  the  sand  .   .   . 

We  are  too  far  from  the  beach,  men  say,  to  know  how  the  out- 
works stand. 

So  we  come  down,  uneasy,  to  look,  uneasily  pacing  the  beach. 
These  are  the  dykes  our  fathers  made:   we  have  never  known 

a  breach. 
Time  and  again  has  the  gale  blown  by  and  we  were  not  afraid ; 
Now  we  come  only  to  look  at  the  dykes  —  at  the  dykes  our 

fathers  made. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  207 

O'er  the  marsh  where  the  homesteads  cower  apart  the  har- 
ried sunhght  flies, 

Shifts  and  considers,  wanes  and  recovers,  scatters  and  sickens 
and  dies  — 

An  evil  ember  bedded  in  ash  —  a  spark  blown  west  by  the 
wind  .   .   . 

We  are  surrendered  to  night  and  the  sea  —  the  gale  and  the 
tide  behind ! 

At  the  bridge  of  the  lower  saltings  the  cattle  gather  and  blare. 
Roused  by  the  feet  of  running  men,  dazed  by  the  lantern 

glare. 
Unbar  and  let  them  away  for  their  lives  —  the  levels  drown 

as  they  stand. 
Where  the  flood-wash  forces  the  sluices  aback  and  the  ditches 

deliver  inland. 

Ninefold  deep  to  the  top  of  the  dykes  the  galloping  breakers 

stride. 
And  their  overcarried  spray  is  a  sea  —  a  sea  on  the  landward 

side. 
Coming,  Hke  stallions  they  paw  with  their  hooves,  going  they 

snatch  with  their  teeth. 
Till  the  bents  and  the  furze  and  the  sand  are  dragged  out, 

and  the  old-time  hurdles  beneath ! 

Bid  men  gather  fuel  for  Are,  the  tar,  the  oil  and  the  tow  — 
Flame  we  shall  need,  not  smoke,  in  the  dark  if  the  riddled 

sea-banks  go. 
Bid  the  ringers  watch  in  the  tower   (who  knows  what  the 

dawn  shall  prove  .^) 
Each  with  his  rope  between  his  feet  and  the  trembling  bells 

above. 

Now  we  can  only  wait  till  the  day,  wait  and  apportion  our 

shame. 
These  are  the  dykes  our  fathers  left,  but  we  would  not  look 

to  the  same. 


208  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Time  and  again  were  we  warned  of  the  dykes,  time  and  again 

we  delayed: 
Now,  it  may  fall,  we  have  slain  our  sons  as  our  fathers  we 

have  betrayed. 
•  •••••• 

Walking  along  the  wreck  of  the  dykes,  watching  the  work  of 

the  seas. 
These  were  the  dykes  our  fathers  made  to  our  great  profit 

and  ease ; 
But  the  peace  is  gone  and  the  profit  is  gone,  and  the  old  sure 

day  withdrawn  .  .  . 
That  our  own  houses  show  as  strange  when  we  come  back  in 

the  dawn! 


THE  WAGE-SLAVES 

1902 


o 


H  glorious  are  the  guarded  heights 

Where  guardian  souls  abide  — 
Self-exiled  from  our  gross  dehghts  — 

Above,  beyond,  outside: 
An  ampler  arc  their  spirit  swings  — 

Commands  a  juster  view  — 
We  have  their  word  for  all  these  things, 

Nor  doubt  their  words  are  true. 

Yet  we  the  bondslaves  of  our  day, 

Whom  dirt  and  danger  press  — 
Co-heirs  of  insolence,  delay. 

And  leagued  unfaithfulness  — 
Such  is  our  need  must  seek  indeed 

And,  having  found,  engage 
The  men  who  merely  do  the  work 

For  which  they  draw  the  wage. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  209 

From  forge  and  farm  and  mine  and  bench, 

Deck,  altar,  outpost  lone  — 
Mill,  school,  battahon,  counter,  trench. 

Rail,  senate,  shecpfold,  throne  — 
Creation's  cry  goes  up  on  high 

From  age  to  cheated  age : 
"  Send  us  the  men  who  do  the  work 

"  For  which  they  draw  the  wage." 

Words  cannot  help  nor  wit  achieve. 

Nor  e'en  the  all-gifted  fool. 
Too  weak  to  enter,  bide,  or  leave 

The  lists  he  cannot  rule. 
Beneath  the  sun  we  count  on  none 

Our  evil  to  assuage. 
Except  the  men  that  do  the  work 

For  which  they  draw  the  wage. 


When  through  the  Gates  of  Stress  and  Strain 

Comes  forth  the  vast  Event  — 
The  simple,  sheer,  sufficing,  sane 

Result  of  labour  spent  — 
They  that  have  wrought  the  end  unthought 

Be  neither  saint  nor  sage. 
But  only  men  who  did  the  work 

For  which  they  drew  the  wage. 

Wherefore  to  these  the  Fates  shall  bend 

(And  all  old  idle  things  — ) 
Wherefore  on  these  shall  Power  attend 

Beyond  the  grip  of  kings: 
Each  in  his  place,  by  right,  not  grace, 

Shall  rule  his  heritage  — 
The  men  who  simply  do  the  work 

For  which  they  draw  the  wage. 
14 


210  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Not  such  as  scorn  the  loitering  street. 

Or  waste  to  earn  its  praise, 
Their  noontide's  unreturning  heat 

About  their  morning  ways : 
But  such  as  dower  each  mortgaged  hour 

AHke  with  clean  courage  — 
Even  the  men  who  do  the  work 

For  which  they  draw  the  wage  — 
Men  like  to  Gods  that  do  the  work 

For  which  they  draw  the  wage  — 
Begin  —  continue  —  close  that  work 

For  which  they  draw  the  wage! 


RIMMON 

1903 


D 


'ULY  with  knees  that  feign  to  quake  — 
Bent  head  and  shaded  brow,  — 
Yet  once  again,  for  my  father's  sake, 
In  Rimmon's  House  I  bow. 

The  curtains  part,  the  trumpet  blares, 

And  the  eunuchs  howl  aloud ; 
And  the  gilt,  swag-bellied  idol  glares 

Lisolent  over  the  crowd. 

"  This  is  Rimmon,  Lord  of  the  Earth  — 
"  Fear  Him  and  bow  the  knee!  " 

And  I  watch  my  comrades  hide  their  mirth 
That  rode  to  the  wars  with  me. 

For  we  remember  the  sun  and  the  sand 

And  the  rocks  whereon  we  trod, 
Ere  we  came  to  a  scorched  and  a  scornful  land 

That  did  not  know  our  God; 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  211 

As  we  remember  the  sacrifice 

Dead  men  an  hundred  laid  — 
Slain  while  they  served  His  mysteries 

And  that  He  would  not  aid. 

Not  though  we  gashed  ourselves  and  wept, 

For  the  high-priest  bade  us  wait; 
Saying  He  went  on  a  journey  or  slept, 

Or  was  drunk  or  had  taken  a  mate. 

(Praise  ye  Rimmon,  King  of  Kings, 

Who  ruleth  Earth  and  Sky! 
And  again  I  bow  as  the  censer  swings 

And  the  God  Enthroned  goes  by.) 

Ay,  we  remember  His  sacred  ark 

And  the  virtuous  men  that  knelt 
To  the  dark  and  the  hush  behind  the  dark 

Wherein  we  dreamed  He  dwelt ; 

Until  we  entered  to  hale  Him  out, 

And  found  no  more  than  an  old 
Uncleanly  image  girded  about 

The  loins  with  scarlet  and  gold. 

Him  we  o'erset  with  the  butts  of  our  spears  — 

Him  and  his  vast  designs  — 
To  be  the  scorn  of  our  muleteers 

And  the  jest  of  our  halted  lines. 

By  the  picket-pins  that  the  dogs  defile, 

In  the  dung  and  the  dust  He  lay. 
Till  the  priests  ran  and  chattered  awhile 

And  wiped  Him  and  took  Him  away. 

Hushing  the  matter  before  it  was  known, 

They  returned  to  our  fathers  afar. 
And  hastily  set  Him  afresh  on  His  throne 

Because  He  had  won  us  the  war. 


212  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Wherefore  with  knees  that  feign  to  quake  — 
Bent  head  and  shaded  brow  — 

To  this  dead  dog,  for  my  father's  sake, 
In  Rimmon's  House  I  bow. 


THE  REFORMERS 
1901 

J\  OT  in  the  camp  Ms  victory  lies 
Or  triumph  in  the  market-place, 

Who  is  his  Nation's  sacrifice 

To  turn  the  judgment  from  his  race. 

Happy  is  he  who,  bred  and  taught 
By  sleek,  sufficing  Circumstance  — 

Whose  Gospel  was  the  apparelled  thought. 
Whose  Gods  were  Luxury  and  Chance  — 

Sees,  on  the  threshold  of  his  daj^s. 
The  old  life  shrivel  like  a  scroll, 

And  to  unheralded  dismays 
Submits  his  body  and  his  soul ; 

The  fatted  shows  wherein  he  stood 
Foregoing,  and  the  idiot  pride, 

That  he  may  prove  with  his  own  blood 
All  that  liis  easy  sires  denied  — 

Ultimate  issues,  primal  springs, 
Demands,  abasements,  penalties  — 

The  imperishable  plinth  of  tilings 

Seen  and  unseen,  that  touch  our  peace. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  213 

For,  though  ensnaring  ritual  dim 
His  vision  through  the  after-years, 

Yet  virtue  shall  go  out  of  him: 
Example  profiting  his  peers. 

With  great  things  charged  he  shall  not  hold 

Aloof  till  great  occasion  rise, 
But  serve,  full-harnessed,  as  of  old, 

The  Days  that  are  the  Destinies. 

He  shall  forswear  and  put  away 

The  idols  of  his  sheltered  house ; 
And  to  Necessity  shall  pay 

Unflinching  tribute  of  his  vows. 

He  shall  not  plead  another's  act, 

Nor  bind  him  in  another's  oath 
To  weigh  the  Word  above  the  Fact, 

Or  make  or  take  excuse  for  sloth. 

The  yoke  he  bore  shall  press  him  still, 

And  long-ingrained  effort  goad 
To  find,  to  fashion,  and  fulfil 

The  cleaner  life,  the  sterner  code. 

Not  in  the  camp  his  victory  lies  — 
The  world  (unheeding  his  return) 

Shall  see  it  in  his  children's  eyes 

And  from  his  grandson's  lips  shall  learn! 


214  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

THE   OLD   MEN 

1902 

jf  HIS  is  our  lot  if  we  live  so  long  and  labour  unto  the  end  — 
That  we  outlive  the  impatient  years  and  the  much  too  patient 

friend: 
And  because  we  know  we  have  breath  in  our  mouth  and  think 

we  have  thought  in  our  head. 
We  shall  assume  that  we  are  alive,  whereas  we  are  really  dead. 

We  shall  not  acknowledge  that  old  stars  fade  or  alien  planets 

arise 
(That  the  sere  bush  buds  or  the  desert  blooms  or  the  ancient 

well-head  dries), 
Or  any  new  compass  wherewith  new  men  adventure  'neath 

new  skies. 

We  shall  lift  up  the  ropes  that  constrained  our  youth,  to  bind 

on  our  children's  hands ; 
We  shall  call  to  the  water  below  the  bridges  to  return  and 

replenish  our  lands ; 
We   shall   harness   horses    (Death's   own   pale   horses)    and 

scholarly  plough  the  sands. 

We  shall  lie  down  in  the  eye  of  the  sun  for  lack  of  a  light  on 

our  way  — 
We  shall  rise  up  when  the  day  is  done  and  cliirrup,  "  Behold, 

it  is  day !  " 
We  shall  abide  till  the  battle  is  won  ere  we  amble  into  the 

fray. 

We  shall  peck  out  and  discuss  and  dissect,  and  evert  and  ex- 
trude to  our  mind, 

The  flaccid  tissues  of  long-dead  issues  offensive  to  God  and 
mankind  — 

(Precisely  like  vultures  over  an  ox  that  the  Army  has  left 
behind) . 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  215 

We  shall  make  walk  preposterous  ghosts  of  the  glories  we  once 
created  — 

(Immodestly  smearing  from  muddled  palettes  amazing  pig- 
ments mismated) 

And  our  friends  will  weep  when  we  ask  them  with  boasts  if 
our  natural  force  be  abated. 

The  Lamp  of  our  Youth  will  be  utterly  out:    but  we  shall 

subsist  on  the  smell  of  it, 
And  whatever  we  do,  we  shall  fold  our  hands  and  suck  our 

gums  and  think  well  of  it. 
Yes,  we  shall  be  perfectly  pleased  with  our  work,  and  that 

is  the  Perfectest  Hell  of  it! 

This  is  our  lot  if  we  live  so  long  and  listen  to  those  who  love 

us  — 
Th<it  we  are  shunned  by  the  people  about  and  shamed  hy  the 

Powers  above  us. 
Wherefore  be  free  of  your  harness  bet'nnes;    but  being  free  be 

assured. 
That  he  who  hath  not  endured  to  the  death,  from  his  birth  he 

hath  never  endured! 


THE  WHITE  MAN'S  BURDEN 
1899 

1  AKE  up  the  White  Man's  burden  — 

Send  forth  the  best  ye  breed  — 
Go  bind  your  sons  to  exile 

To  serve  your  captives'  need; 
To  wait  in  heavy  harness. 

On  fluttered  folk  and  wild  — 
Your  new-caught,  sullen  peoples. 

Half-devil  and  half-child. 


216  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Take  up  the  White  Man's  burden  — 

Li  patience  to  abide, 
To  veil  the  threat  of  terror 

And  check  the  show  of  pride; 
By  open  speech  and  simple, 

An  hundred  times  made  plain, 
To  seek  another's  profit. 

And  work  another's  gain. 

Take  up  the  White  Man's  burden  — 

The  savage  wars  of  peace  — 
Fill  full  the  mouth  of  Famine 

And  bid  the  sickness  cease ; 
And  when  your  goal  is  nearest 

The  end  for  others  sought, 
Watch  Sloth  and  heathen  Folly 

Bring  all  your  hope  to  nought. 

Take  up  the  White  Man's  burden  — 

No  tawdry  rule  of  kings. 
But  toil  of  serf  and  sweeper  — 

The  tale  of  common  things. 
The  ports  ye  shall  not  enter. 

The  roads  ye  shaU  not  tread, 
Go  make  them  with  your  living. 

And  mark  them  with  your  dead. 

Take  up  the  White  Man's  burden  — 

And  reap  his  old  reward: 
The  blame  of  those  ye  better, 

The  hate  of  those  ye  guard  — 
The  cry  of  hosts  ye  humour 

(Ah,  slowly!)     toward  the  light:  — 
"  Why  brought  ye  us  from  bondage, 

"  Our  loved  Egyptian  night?  " 

Take  up  the  White  Man's  burden  — 
Ye  dare  not  stoop  to  less  — 

Nor  call  too  loud  on  Freedom 
To  cloak  your  weariness ; 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  217 

Bj  all  jc  cry  or  whisper, 

By  all  ye  leave  or  do, 
The  silent,  sullen  peoples 

Shall  weigh  your  Gods  and  you. 

Take  up  the  White  Man's  burden  — 

Have  done  with  childish  days  — 
The  hghtly  proffered  laurel. 

The  easy,  ungrudged  praise.  . 

Comes  now,  to  search  your  manhood     v>^ 

Through  all  the  thanHess  years. 
Cold,  edged  with  dear-bought  wisdom, 

The  judgment  of  your  peers ! 


HYMN  BEFORE  ACTION 

1896 

1  HE  earth  is  full  of  anger. 

The  seas  are  dark  with  wrath. 
The  Nations  in  their  harness 

Go  up  against  our  path: 
Ere  yet  we  loose  the  legions  — 

Ere  yet  we  draw  the  blade, 
Jehovah  of  the  Thunders, 

Lord  God  of  Battles,  aid! 

High  lust  and  froward  bearing. 

Proud  heart,  rebellious  brow  — 
Deaf  ear  and  soul  uncaring. 

We  seek  Thy  mercy  now ! 
The  sinner  that  forswore  Thee, 

The  fool  that  passed  Thee  by. 
Our  times  are  known  before  Thee  — 

Lord,  grant  us  strength  to  die! 


218  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

For  those  who  kneel  beside  us 

At  altars  not  Thine  own, 
Who  lack  the  lights  that  guide  us, 

Lord,  let  their  faith  atone ! 
If  wrong  we  did  to  call  them. 

By  honour  bound  they  came; 
Let  not  Thy  Wrath  befall  them, 

But  deal  to  us  the  blame. 

From  panic,  pride,  and  terror, 

Revenge  that  knows  no  rein. 
Light  haste  and  lawless  error. 

Protect  us  yet  again. 
Cloke  Thou  our  undeserving, 

Make  firm  the  shuddering  breath. 
In  silence  and  unswerving 

To  taste  Thy  lesser  death ! 

Ah,  Mary  pierced  with  sorrow, 
Remember,  reach  and  save 

The  soul  that  comes  to-morrow 
Before  the  God  that  gave! 

Since  each  was  born  of  woman. 
For  each  at  utter  need  — 

True  comrade  and  true  foeman  — 
I  Madonna,  intercede ! 

E'en  now  their  vanguard  gathers. 

E'en  now  we  face  the  fray  — 
As  Thou  didst  help  our  fathers. 

Help  Thou  our  host  to-day ! 
Fulfilled  of  signs  and  wonders, 

In  life,  in  death  made  clear  — 
Jehovah  of  the  Thunders, 

Lord  God  of  Battles,  hear ! 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  219 

RECESSIONAL 

1897 


G 


OD  of  our  fathers,  known  of  old, 

Lord  of  our  far-flung  battle-line, 

Beneath  whose  awful  Hand  we  hold 

Dominion  over  palm  and  pine  — 

Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet. 

Lest  we  forget  —  lest  we  forget ! 

The  tumult  and  the  shouting  dies ; 

The  captains  and  the  kings  depart: 
Still  stands  Thine  ancient  sacrifice, 

An  humble  and  a  contrite  heart. 
Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet. 
Lest  we  forget  —  lest  we  forget ! 

Far-called,  our  navies  melt  away ; 

On  dune  and  headland  sinks  the  fire: 
Lo,  all  our  pomp  of  yesterday 

Is  one  with  Nineveh  and  Tyre ! 
Judge  of  the  Nations,  spare  us  yet, 
Lest  we  forget  —  lest  we  forget ! 

If,  drunk  with  sight  of  power,  we  loose 
Wild  tongues  that  have  not  Thee  in  awe, 

Such  boastings  as  the  Gentiles  use, 
Or  lesser  breeds  without  the  Law  — 

Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 

Lest  we  forget  —  lest  we  forget ! 

For  heathen  heart  that  puts  her  trust 
In  reeking  tube  and  iron  shard. 

All  vahant  dust  that  builds  on  dust, 

And  guarding,  calls  not  Thee  to  guard, 

For  frantic  boast  and  foolish  word  — 

Thy  Mercy  on  Thy  People,  Lord ! 


220  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

THE  THREE-DECKER 

1894 

"  The  three-volume  novel  is  extinct.^* 

r  ULL  thirty  foot  she  towered  from  waterline  to  rail. 
It  cost  a  watch  to  steer  her,  and  a  week  to  shorten  sail; 
But,  spite  all  modern  notions,  I  've  found  her  first  and  best  — 
The  only  certain  packet  for  the  Islands  of  the  Blest. 

Fair  held  the  breeze  behind  us  —  't  was  warm  with  lovers' 
prayers. 

We  'd  stolen  wills  for  ballast  and  a  crew  of  missing  heirs. 

They  shipped  as  Able  Bastards  till  the  Wicked  Nurse  con- 
fessed, 

And  they  worked  the  old  three-decker  to  the  Islands  of  the 
Blest. 

By  ways  no  gaze  could  follow,  a  course  unspoiled  of  cook, 
Per  Fancy,  fleetest  in  man,  our  titled  berths  we  took 
With  maids  of  matchless  beauty  and  parentage  unguessed, 
And  a  Church  of  England  parson  for  the  Islands  of  the  Blest. 

We  asked  no  social  questions  —  we  pumped  no  hidden  shame  — 
We  never  talked  obstetrics  when  the  Little  Stranger  came: 
We  left  the  Lord  in  Heaven,  we  left  the  fiends  in  Hell. 
We  were  n't  exactly  Yussufs,  but  —  Zuleika  did  n't  tell. 

No  moral  doubt  assailed  us,  so  when  the  port  we  ncared, 
The  villain  had  his  flogging  at  the  gangway,  and  we  cheered. 
'T  was  fiddle  in  the  forc's'le  —  't  was  garlands  on  the  mast, 
For  every  one  got  married,  and  I  went  ashore  at  last. 

I  left  'em  all  in  couples  akissing  on  the  decks. 
I  left  the  lovers  loving  and  the  parents  signing  cheques. 
In  endless  English  comfort,  by  county-folk  caressed, 
I  left  the  old  three-decker  at  the  Islands  of  the  Blest ! 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  221 

That  route  is  barred  to  steamers:   you  '11  never  lift  again 
Our  pui*ple-painted  headlands  or  the  lordly  keeps  of  Spain. 
They  're  just  beyond  your  skyline,  howe'er  so  far  you  cruise 
In  a  ram-you-dainn-you  liner  with  a  brace  of  bucking  screws. 

Swing    round    your    aching    search-light  —  't  will    show    no 

haven's  peace. 
Ay,  blow  your  shrieking  sirens  at  the  deaf,  grey-bearded  seas ! 
Boom  out  the  dripping  oil-bags  to  skin  the  deep's  unrest  — 
And  you  are  n't  one  knot  the  nearer  to  the  Islands  of  the  Blest ! 


But  when  you  're  threshing,  crippled,  with  broken  bridge  and 

rail, 
At  a  drogue  of  dead  convictions  to  hold  you  head  to  gale. 
Calm  as  the  Flying  Dutchman,  from  truck  to  taffrail  dressed, 
You  '11  see  the  old  three-decker  for  the  Islands  of  the  Blest. 

You  '11  see  her  tiering  canvas  in  sheeted  silver  spread ; 
You  '11  hear  the  long-drawn  thunder  'neath  her  leaping  figure- 
head; 
While  far,  so  far  above  you,  her  tall  poop-lanterns  shine 
Unvexed  by  wind  or  weather  like  the  candles  round  a  shrine! 

Hull  down  —  hull  down  and  under  —  she  dwindles  to  a  speck, 

With  noise  of  pleasant  music  and  dancing  on  her  deck. 

All 's   well  —  all 's   well    aboard   her  —  she  's   left   you    far 

behind, 
With  a  scent  of  old-world  ros^s  through  the  fog  that  ties  you 

blind. 

Her  crew  are  babes  or  madmen?    Her  port  is  all  to  make? 
You  're  manned  by  Truth  and  Science,  and  you  steam  for 

steaming's  sake? 
Well,   tinker   up   your   engines  —  you   know   your   business 

best  — 
She  's  taking  tired  people  to  the  Islands  of  the  Blest ! 


222  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

THE  RHYME  OF  THE  THREE 
CAPTAINS 

1890 

\_This  ballad  appears  to  refer  to  one  of  the  exploits  of  the 
notorious  Paul  Jones,  an  American  pirate.  It  is  founded  on 
fact.l 

.  .  .     J\T  the  close  of  a  winter  day, 

Their  anchors  down,  by  London  town,  the  Three  Great  Cap- 
tains lay ; 

And  one  was  Admiral  of  the  North  from  Solway  Firth  to  Skye, 

And  one  was  Lord  of  the  Wessex  coast  and  all  the  lands 
thereby, 

And  one  was  Master  of  the  Thames  from  Limehouse  to  Black- 
wall, 

And  he  was  Captain  of  the  Fleet  —  the  bravest  of  them  all. 

Their  good  guns  guarded  the  great  grey  sides  that  were  thirty 
foot  in  the  sheer. 

When  there  came  a  certain  trading  brig  with  news  of  a  priva- 
teer. 

Her  rigging  was  rough  with  the  clotted  drift  that  drives  in  a 
Northern  breeze, 

Her  sides  were  clogged  with  the  lazy  weed  that  spawns  in  the 
Eastern  seas. 

Light  she  rode  in  the  rude  tide-rip,  to  left  and  right  she  rolled, 

And  the  skipper  sat  on  the  scuttle-butt  and  stared  at  an  empty 
hold. 

"  I  ha'  paid  Port  dues  for  your  Law,"  quoth  he,  "  and  where  is 
the  Law  ye  boast 

"  If  I  sail  unscathed  from  a  heathen  port  to  bo  robbed  on  a 
Christian  coast.? 

"  Ye  have  smoked  the  hives  of  the  Laccadivcs  as  we  burn  the 
lice  in  a  bunk. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     K  I  P  L  I  N  G  ^^3 

"  We  tack  not  now  to  a  Gallang  prow  or  a  plunging  Pel-ho 

junk; 
"  I  had  no  fear  but  the  seas  were  clear  as  far  as  a  sail  might 

fare 
"  Till  I  met  with  a  lime-washed  Yankee  brig  that  rode  off 

Finisterre. 
"  There  were  canvas  bHnds  to  his  bow-gun  ports  to  screen  the 

weight  he  bore, 
"  And  the  signals  ran  for  a  merchantman  from  Sandy  Hook 

to  the  Nore. 
"  He  would  not  fly  the  Rovers'  flag  —  the  bloody  or  the  black, 
"  But  now  he  floated  the  Gridiron  and  now  he  flaunted  the 

Jack. 
"  He  spoke  of  the  Law  as  he  crimped  my  crew  —  he  swore 

it  was  only  a  loan  ; 
"  But  when  I  would  ask  for  my  own  again,  he  swore  it  was 

none  of  my  own. 
"  He  has  taken  my  little  parrakeets  that  nest  beneath  the  Line, 
"  He  has  stripped  my  rails  of  the  shaddock-frails  and  the 

green  unripened  pine ; 
"  He  has  taken  my  bale  of  dammer  and  spice  I  won  beyond 

the  seas, 
"  He  has  taken  my  grinning  heathen  gods  —  and  what  should 

he  want  o'  these? 
"  My   foremast   would   not   mend   his   boom,   my   deck-house 

patch  his  boats ; 
"  He  has  whittled  the  two,  this  Yank  Yahoo,  to  peddle  for 

shoe-peg  oats. 
"  I  could  not  fight  for  the  failing  Ught  and  a  rough  beam-sea 

beside, 
"  But  I  hulled  him  once  for  a  clumsy  crimp  and  twice  because 

he  lied. 
"  Had  I  had  guns  (as  I  had  goods)  to  work  my  Christian 

harm, 
"  I  had  run  him  up  from  his  quarter-deck  to  trade  with  his 

own  yard-arm; 
"  I  had  nailed  his  ears  to  my  capstan-head,  and  ripped  them 

off  with  a  saw. 


224  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

"  And  soused  them  in  the  bilgewater,  and  served  them  to  liim 

raw; 
"  I  had  flung  him  bhnd  in  a  rudderless  boat  to  rot  in  the  rock- 
ing dark, 
"  I  had  towed  him  aft  of  his  own  craft,  a  bait  for  his  brother 

shark ; 
"  I  had  lapped  him  round  with  cocoa  husk,  and  drenched  him 

with  the  oil, 
"  And  lashed  him  fast  to  his  own  mast  to  blaze  above  my 

spoil ; 
"  I  had  stripped  his  hide  for  my  hammock-side,  and  tasselled 

his  beard  i'  the  mesh, 
"  And  spitted  his  crew  on  the  live  bamboo  that  grows  through 

the  gangrened  flesh ; 
"  I  had  hove  him  down  by  the  mangroves  brown,  where  the 

mud- reef  sucks  and  draws, 
"  Moored  by  the  heel  to  his  own  keel  to  wait  for  the  land-crab's 

claws ! 
"  He  is  lazar  within  and  lime  without,  ye  can  nose  him  far 

enow, 
"  For  he  caiTies  the  taint  of  a  musky  ship  —  the  reek  of  the 

slaver's  dhow !  " 
The  skipper  looked  at  the  tiering  guns  and  the  bulwarks  tall 

and  cold. 
And  the  Captains  Three  full  courteously  peered  down  at  the 

gutted  hold. 
And   the   Captains   Three   called  courteously   from   deck  to 

scuttle-butt :  — 
"  Good  Sir,  we  ha'  dealt  with  that  merchantman  or  ever  your 

teeth  were  cut. 
"  Your  words  be  words  of  a  lawless  race,   and  the  Law  it 

standeth  thus : 
"  He  comes  of  a  race  that  have  never  a  Law,  and  he  never  has 

boarded  us. 
"  We  ha'  sold  him  canvas  and  rope  and  spar  —  we  know  that 

his  price  is  fair, 
"  And  we  know  that  he  weeps  for  the  lack  of  a  Law  as  he  rides 

off  Finisterre. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  225 

"  And  since  he  is  damned  for  a  gallows-thief  by  you  and  better 
than  you, 

"  We  hold  it  meet  that  the  English  fleet  should  know  that  we 
hold  him  true." 

The  skipper  called  to  the  tall  taff  rail :  —  "  And  what  is  that 
to  me? 

"  Did  ever  you  hear  of  a  Yankee  brig  that  rifled  a  Seventy- 
three  ? 

"  Do  I  loom  so  large  from  your  quarter-deck  that  I  lift  like  a 
ship  o'  the  Line? 

"  He  has  learned  to  run  from  a  shotted  gun  and  harry  such 
craft  as  mine. 

"  There  is  never  a  Law  on  the  Cocos  Keys  to  hold  a  white 
man  in, 

"  But  we  do  not  steal  the  niggers'  meal,  for  that  is  a  nigger's 
sin. 

"  Must  he  have  his  Law  as  a  quid  to  chaw,  or  laid  in  brass  on 
his  wheel? 

"  Does  he  steal  with  tears  when  he  buccaneers?     'Fore  Gad, 
then,  why  does  he  steal?  " 

The  skipper  bit  on  a  deep-sea  word,  and  the  word  it  was  not 
sweet. 

For  he  could  see  the  Captains  Three  had  signalled  to  the  Fleet. 

But  three  and  two,  in  white  and  blue,  the  whimpering  flags 
began :  — 

"  We  have  heard  a  tale  of  a  —  foreign  sail,  but  he  is  a  mer- 
chantman." 

The  skipper  peered  beneath  his  palm  and  swore  by  the  Great 
Horn  Spoon :  — 

"  'Fore  Gad,  the  Chaplain  of  the  Fleet  would  bless  my  pica- 
roon !  " 

By  two  and  three  the  flags  blew  free  to  lash  the  laughing 
air:  — 

"  We  have  sold  our  spars  to  the  merchantman  —  we  know  that 
his  price  is  fair." 

The  skipper  winked  his  Western  eye,  and  swore  by  a  China 
storm :  — 

15 


226  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

"  They   ha'    rigged   him   a   Joseph's   jury-coat   to   keep  his 

honour  warm." 
The  halHards  twanged  against  the  tops,  the  bunting  beUicd 

broad, 
The  skipper  spat  in  the  empty  hold  and  mourned  for  a  wasted 

cord. 
Masthead  —  masthead,  the  signal  sped  by  the  line  o'  the  Brit- 
ish craft: 
The  skipper  called  to  his  Lascar  crew,  and  put  her  about  and 

laughed :  — 
"  It 's  mainsail  haul,  my  bully  boys  all  —  we  '11  out  to  the  seas 

again  — 
"  Ere  they  set  us  to  paint  their  pirate  saint,  or  scrub  at  his 

grapnel-chain. 
"  It 's  fore-sheet  free,  with  her  head  to  the  sea,  and  the  swing 

of  the  unbought  brine  — 
"  We  '11  make  no  sport  in  an  English  court  till  we  come  as  a 

ship  o'  the  Line: 
"  Till  we  come  as  a  ship  o'  the  Line,  my  lads,  of  thirty  foot  in 

the  sheer, 
"  Lifting  again  from  the  outer  main  with  news  of  a  privateer ; 
"  Flying  his  pluck  at  our  mizzen-truck  for  weft  of  Admiralty, 
"  Heaving  his  head  for  our  dipsy-lead  in  sign  that  we  keep 

the  sea. 
"  Then  fore-sheet  home  as  she  lifts  to  the  foam  —  we  stand  on 

the  outward  tack, 
"  We  are  paid  in  the  coin  of  the  white  man's  trade  —  the 

bezant  is  hard,  ay,  and  black. 
"  The  frigate-bird  shall  carry  my  word  to  the  Kling  and  the 

Orang-Laut 
"  How  a  man  may  sail  from  a  heathen  coast  to  be  robbed  in  a 

Christian  port; 
"  How  a  man  may  be  robbed  in  Christian  port  while  Three 

Great  Captains  there 
"Shall  dip  their  flag  to  a  slaver's  rag  —  to  show  that  liis 

trade  is  fair!  " 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  227 

THE   CONUNDRUM   OF  THE 
WORKSHOPS 

1890 

W  HEX    the  flush  of  a  new-born  sun  fell    first   on  Eden's 

green  and  gold. 
Our  father  Adam  sat  under  the  Tree  and  scratched  with  a  stick 

in  the  mould; 
And  the  first  rude  sketch  that  the  world  had  seen  was  joy  to  his 

mighty  heart. 
Till  the  De\il  wliispered  behind  the  leaves,  *'It's  pretty,  but  is 

it  Art  ?  " 

Wherefore  he  called  to  his  wife,  and  fled  to  fashion  his  work 

anew  — 
The  first  of  his  race  who  cared  a  fig  for  the  first,  most  dread 

review ; 
And  he  left  his  lore  to  the  use  of  his  sons  —  and  that  was  a 

glorious  gain 
When  the  De\il  chuckled  "Is  it  Art  ?  '*  in  the  ear  of  the  branded 

Cain. 

They  builded  a  tower  to  shiver  the  sky  and  TSTcnch  the  stars 

apart, 
Till  the  De\al  grunted  behind  the  bricks:   "It's  striking,  but  is 

it  Art?" 
The  stone  was  dropped  at  the  quarry-side  and  the  idle  derrick 

swung, 
While  each  man  talked  of  the  aims  of  Art,  and  each  in  an  alien 

tongue. 

They  fought  and  they  talked  in  the  North  and  the  South ;   they 

talked  and  thev  fouo:ht  in  the  West, 
Till  the  waters  rose  on  the  pitiful  land,  and  the  poor  Red  Clay 

had  rest  — 


228  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Had  rest  till  the  dank  blank-canvas  dawn  when  the  dove  was 

preened  to  start, 
And  the  Devil  bubbled  below  the  keel:   "It's  human,  but  is  it 

Art?" 

The  tale  is  as  old  as  the  Eden  Tree  —  and  new  as  the  new-cut 

tooth  — 
For  each  man  knows  ere  his  lip-thatch  grows  he  is  master  of  Art 

and  Truth; 
And  each  man  hears  as  the  twilight  nears,  to  the  beat  of  his  dying 

heart, 
The  Devil  drum  on  the  darkened  pane:   "You  did  it,  but  was 

it  Art?" 

We  have  learned  to  whittle  the  Eden  Tree  to  the  shape  of  a 

surplice-peg, 
We  have  learned  to  bottle  our  parents  twain  in  the  yelk  of  an 

addled  egg. 
We  know  that  the  tail  must  wag  the  dog,  for  the  horse  is  drawn 

by  the  cart; 
But  the  Devil  whoops,  as  he  whooped  of  old:   "It's  clever,  but 

is  it  Art  ?  " 

When  the  flicker  of  London  sun  falls  faint  on  the  Club-room's 

green  and  gold, 
The  sons  of  Adam  sit  them  down  and  scratch  with  their  pens  in 

the  mould  — 
They  scratch  with  their  pens  in  the  mould  of  their  graves,  and 

the  ink  and  the  anguish  start. 
For  the  Devil  mutters  behind  the  leaves:   "It's  pretty,  but  is  it 

Art?" 

Now,  if  we  could  win  to  the  Eden  Tree  where  the  Four  Great 

Rivers  flow, 
And  the  Wreath  of  Eve  is  red  on  the  turf  as  she  left  it  long  ago, 
And  if  we  could  come  when  the  sentry  slept  and  softly  scurry 

through, 
By  the  favour  of  God  we  might  know  as  much  —  as  our  father 

Adam  knew. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  229 

EVARRA  AND   HIS   GODS 

1890 

Read  here: 

This  is  the  story  of  Evarra  —  man  — 

Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 
Because  the  city  gave  him  of  her  gold. 
Because  the  caravans  brought  turquoises, 
Because  his  life  was  sheltered  by  the  King, 
So  that  no  man  should  maim  him,  none  should  steal, 
Or  break  his  rest  with  babble  in  the  streets 
"When  he  was  weary  after  toil,  he  made 
An  image  of  his  God  in  gold  and  pearl. 
With  turquoise  diadem  and  human  eyes, 
A  wonder  in  the  sunshine,  known  afar. 
And  worshipped  by  the  King ;  but,  drunk  with  pride, 
Because  the  city  bowed  to  him  for  God, 
He  wrote  above  the  shrine :  "  Thus  Gods  are  made, 
''And  ichoso  makes  them  otherwise  shall  die.'' 
And  all  the  city  praised  him.  .  .  .  Then  he  died. 

Read  here  the  story  of  Evarra  —  man  — 

Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 
Because  the  city  had  no  wealth  to  give. 
Because  the  caravans  were  spoiled  afar. 
Because  his  life  was  threatened  by  the  King, 
So  that  all  men  despised  him  in  the  streets, 
He  hewed  the  living  rock,  with  sweat  and  tears, 
And  reared  a  God  against  the  morning-gold, 
A  terror  in  the  sunshine,  seen  afar, 
And  worshipped  by  the  King;  but,  drunk  with  pride. 
Because  the  city  fawned  to  bring  him  back. 
He  carved  upon  the  plinth :  "  Thus  Gods  are  made, 
*'And  wJwso  makes  them  otherwise  shall  die.'' 
And  all  the  people  praised  him.  .  .  .  Then  he  died. 


230  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Read  here  tJie  story  of  Evarra  —  man  — 

Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 
Because  he  lived  among  a  simple  folk, 
Because  his  village  was  between  the  hills, 
Because  he  smeared  his  cheeks  with  blood  of  ewes, 
He  cut  an  idol  from  a  fallen  pine, 
Smeared  blood  upon  its  cheeks,  and  wedged  a  shell 
Above  its  brows  for  eyes,  and  gave  it  hair 
Of  trailing  moss,  and  plaited  straw  for  crown. 
And  all  the  village  praised  him  for  this  craft. 
And  brought  him  butter,  honey,  milk,  and  curds. 
Wherefore,  because  the  shoutings  drove  him  mad, 
He  scratched  upon  that  log :  **  Thus  Gods  are  madey 
^^  And  whoso  makes  them  otherwise  shall  die.'* 
And  all  the  people  praised  him.  .  .  .  Then  he  died. 

Read  here  the  stoi-y  of  Evarra  —  man  — 

Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 

Because  his  God  decreed  one  clot  of  blood 

Should  swerve  one  hair's-breadth  from  the  pulse's  path, 

And  chafe  his  brain,  Evarra  mowed  alone. 

Rag- wrapped,  among  the  cattle  in  the  fields. 

Counting  his  fingers,  jesting  with  the  trees. 

And  mocking  at  the  mist,  until  his  God 

Drove  him  to  labour.     Out  of  dung  and  horns 

Dropped  in  the  mire  he  made  a  monstrous  God, 

Uncleanly,  shapeless,  crowned  with  plantain  tufts, 

And  when  the  cattle  lowed  at  twilight-time. 

He  dreamed  it  was  the  clamour  of  lost  crowds. 

And  howled  among  the  beasts :  "  Thus  Gods  are  made^ 

*'  And  whoso  makes  them  otherwise  shall  die.'' 

Thereat  the  cattle  bellowed.  .  .  .  Then  he  died. 

Yet  at  the  last  he  came  to  Paradise, 

And  found  his  own  four  Gods,  and  that  he  wrote ; 

And  marvelled,  being  very  near  to  God, 

What  oaf  on  earth  had  made  his  toil  God's  law, 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  231 

Till  God  said  mocking:  "Mock  not.     These  be  thine." 
Then  cried  Evarra :  "I  have  sinned  ! "  —  "Not  so. 
"If  thou  hadst  written  otherwise,  thy  Gods 
"Had  rested  in  the  mountain  and  the  mine, 
"And  I  were  poorer  by  four  wondrous  Gods, 
"And  thy  more  wondrous  law,  Evarra.     Thine, 
"Servant  of  shouting  crowds  and  lowing  kine  ! " 

Thereat,  with  laughing  mouth,  but  tear-wet  eyes, 
Evarra  cast  his  Gods  from  Paradise. 

This  is  the  story  of  Evarra  —  man  — 
Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 


IN  THE  NEOLITHIC  AGE 

1895 

IN  the  Neolithic  Age  savage  warfare  did  I  wage  ^v^a. 

For  food  and  fame  and  woolly  horses'  pelt; 
I  was  singer  to  my  clan  in  that  dim,  red  Dawn  of  Man, 

And  I  sang  of  all  we  fought  and  feared  and  felt.~ 

Yea,  I  sang  as  now  I  sing,  when  the  Prehistoric  spring 
Made  the  piled  Biscayan  ice-pack  split  and  shove ; 

And  the  troll  and  gnome  and  dwerg,  and  the  Gods  of  Cliff  and 
Berg 
Were  about  me  and  beneath  me  and  above. 

But  a  rival,  of  Solutre,  told  the  tribe  my  style  was  oidre  — 

'Neath  a  tomahawk,  of  diorite,  he  fell. 
And  I  left  my  views  on  Art,  barbed  and  tanged,  below  the 
heart 

Of  a  mammothistic  etcher  at  Grenelle 


2S2  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Then  I  stripped  them,  scalp  from  skull,  and  my  hunting  dogs 
fed  full. 
And  their  teeth  I  threaded  neatly  on  a  thong ; 
And  I  wiped  my  mouth  and  said,  "It  is  well  that  they  are 
dead, 
"  For  I  know  my  work  is  right  and  theirs  was  wrong." 

But  my  Totem  saw  the  shame;    from  his  ridgepole  shrine  he 
came. 

And  he  told  me  in  a  vision  of  the  night :  — 
"There  are  nine  and  sixty  ways  of  constructing  tribal  lays, 

**And  every  single  one  of  them  is  right ! " 


Then  the  silence  closed  upon  me  till  They  put  new  clothing 
on  me 

Of  whiter,  weaker  flesh  and  bone  more  frail ; 
And  I  stepped  beneath  Time's  finger,  once  again  a  tribal  singer, 

[And  a  minor  poet  certified  by  Trraill]. 

Still  they  skirmish  to  and  fro,  men  my  messmates  on  the  snow. 
When  we  headed  off  the  aurochs  turn  for  turn ; 

When  the  rich  Allobrogenses  never  kept  amanuenses. 
And  our  only  plots  were  piled  in  lakes  at  Berne. 

Still  a  cultured  Christian  age  sees  us  scuffle,  squeak,  and  rage. 
Still  we  pinch  and  slap  and  jabber,  scratch  and  dirk ; 

Still  we  let  our  business  slide  —  as  we  dropped  the  half -dressed 
hide  — 
To  show  a  fellow-savage  how  to  work. 

■  Still  the  world  is  wondrous  large,  —  seven  seas  from  marge  to 

1  marge,  — 

And  it  holds  a  vast  of  various  kinds  of  man ; 
And  the  wildest  dreams  of  Kew  are  the  facts  of  Khatmandhu, 
I    And  the  crimes  of  Clapham  chaste  in  Martaban. 


\ 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  233 

Here 's  my  wisdom  for  your  use,  as  I  learned  it  when  the  moose 
And  the  reindeer  roared  where  Paris  roars  to-night :  — 

"  There  are  nine  and  sixty  ways  of  constructing  tribal  lays, 
"  And  —  every  —  single  —  one  —  of  —  them  —  is  —  right ! " 


THE   STORY  OF  UNG 

1894 

Once,  on  a  guttering  ice-field,  ages  and  ages  ago, 
Ung,  a  maker  of  pictures,  fashioned  an  image  of  snow. 
Fashioned  the  form  of  a  tribesman  —  gaily  he  whistled  and 

sung. 
Working  the  snow  with  his  fingers.     Read  ye  the  Story  of  Lng! 

Pleased  was  his  tribe  with  that  image  —  came  in  their  hundreds 

to  scan  — 
Handled  it,  smelt  it,  and  grunted :  "Verily,  this  is  a  man ! 
"  Thus  do  we  carry  our  lances  —  thus  is  a  war-belt  slung. 
*'  Lo  !  it  is  even  as  we  are.     Glory  and  honour  to  Ung  ! " 

Later  he  pictured  an  aurochs  —  later  he  pictured  a  bear  — 
Pictured  the  sabre-tooth  tiger  dragging  a  man  to  his  lair  — 
Pictured  the  mountainous  mammoth,  hair}%  abhorrent,  alone  — 
Out  of  the  love  that  he  bore  them,  scriving  them  clearly  on  bone. 

Swift  came  his  tribe  to  behold  them,  peering  and  pushing  and 

still  — 
Men  of  the  berg-battered  beaches,  men  of  the  boulder-hatched 

hill  — 
Hunters  and  fishers  and  trappers,  presently  whispering  low : 
"Yea,   they  are  like  —  and   it  may   be  —  But  how  does  the 

Picture-man  know  ? 


234  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

"Ung  —  hath  he  slept  with  the  Aurochs  —  watched  where  the 

Mastodon  roam  ? 
*'  Spoke  on  the  ice  with  the  Bow-head  —  followed  the  Sabre-tooth 

home  ? 
"  Nay  !     These  are  toys  of  his  fancy  !     If  he  have  cheated  us  so, 
"  How  is  there  truth  in  his  image  —  the  man  that  he  fashioned 

of  snow  ?  " 

Wroth  was  that  maker  of  pictures  —  hotly  he  answered  the  call : 
"Hunters  and  fishers  and  trappers,  children  and  fools  are  ye 

all! 
*'  Look  at  the   beasts  when  ye  hunt  them  ! "     Swift  from   the 

tumult  he  broke, 
Ran  to  the  cave  of  his  father  and  told  him  the  shame  that  they 

spoke. 

And  the  father  of  Ung  gave  answer,  that  was  old  and  wise  in 

the  craft. 
Maker  of  pictures  aforetime,  he  leaned  on  his  lance  and  laughed : 
"If  they  could  see  as  thou  seest  they  would  do  what  thou  hast 

done, 
"  And  each  man  would  make  him  a  picture,  and  —  what  would 

become  of  my  son  ? 

"There  would  be  no  pelts  of  the  reindeer,  flung  down  at  thy 

cave  for  a  gift, 
"Nor  dole  of  the  oily  timber  that  comes  on  the  Baltic  drift; 
"No  store  of  well-drilled  needles,  nor  ouches  of  amber  pale; 
"No  new-cut  tongues  of  the  bison,  nor  meat  of  the  stranded 

whale. 

"  Thou  hast  not  toiled  at  the  fishing  when  the  sodden  trammels 

freeze, 
"Nor  worked  the  war-boats  outward  through  the  rush  of  the 

rock-staked  seas, 
"Yet  they   bring  thee  fish   and   plunder  —  full  meal  and  an 

easy  bed  — 
"And  all  for  the  sake  of  thy  pictures."    And  Ung   held  down 

his  head. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  235 

"  Thxm  hast  not  stood  to  the  Aurochs  when  the  red  snow  reeks 

of  the  fight; 
*'Men  have  no  time  at  the  houghing  to  count  his  curls  aright 
"And  the  heart  of  the  hairy  Mammoth,  thou  saycst,  they  do 

not  see, 
"Yet  they  save  it  whole  from  the   beaches  and  broil   the  best 

for  thee. 

"And  now  do  they  press  to  thy  pictures,  with  opened  mouth 
and  eye, 

"And  a  little  gift  in  the  doorway,  and  the  praise  no  gift  can 
buy: 

"  But  —  sure  they  have  doubted  thy  pictures,  and  that  is  a  griev- 
ous stain  — 

"Son  that  can  see  so  clearly,  return  them  their  gifts  again  !" 

And  Ung  looked  down  at  his  deerskins  —  their  broad  shell- 

tasselled  bands  — 
And  Ung  drew  dowTiward  his  mitten  and  looked  at  his  naked 

hands ; 
And  he  gloved  himself  and  departed,  and  he  heard  his  father, 

behind : 
"Son  that  can  see  so  clearly,  rejoice  that  thy  tribe  is  blind ! " 

Straight  on   the  glittering  ice-field,   by  the  caves  of  the  lost 

Dordogne, 
Ung,  a  maker  of  pictures,  fell  to  his  scriving  on  bone 
Even  to  mammoth  editions.     Gaily  he  whistled  and  sung, 
Blessing  his  tribe  for  their  blindness.    Heed  ye  the  Story  of  Ung! 


236  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

THE  FILES 

1903 

(The  Sub-editor  Speaks) 

Files  — 

The  Files  — 

Office  Files ! 

Oblige  me  by  referring  to  the  files. 

Every  question  man  can  raise, 

Every  phrase  of  every  phase 

Of  that  question  is  on  record  in  the  files  — 

(Threshed  out  threadbare  —  fought  and  finished  in  the  files). 

Ere  the  Universe  at  large 

Was  our  new- tipped  arrows'  targe  — 

Ere  we  rediscovered  Mammon  and  his  wiles  — 

Faenza,  gentle  reader,  spent  her  —  five-and-twentieth  leader 

(You  will  find  him,  and  some  others,  in  the  files). 

Warn  all  future  Robert  Brownings  and  Carlyles, 

It  will  interest  them  to  hunt  among  the  files, 

Where  un visited,  a-cold. 

Lie  the  crowded  years  of  old 

In  that  Kensall-Green  of  greatness  called  the  files 

(In  our  newspaPere-la-Chaise  the  office  files), 

Where  the  dead  men  lay  them  down 

Meekly  sure  of  long  renown. 

And  above  them,  sere  and  swift. 

Packs  the  daily  deepening  drift 

Of  the  all-recording,  all-effacing  files  — 

The  obliterating,  automatic  files. 

Count  the  mighty  men  who  slung 

Ink,  Evangel,  Sword,  or  Tongue 

When  Reform  and  you  were  young  — 

Made  their  boasts  and  spake  according  in  the  files  — 

(Hear  the  ghosts  that  wake  applauding  in  the  files  !) 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  237 

Trace  each  all-forgot  career 

From  long  primer  through  brevier 

Unto  Death,  a  para  minion  in  the  files 

(Para  minion  —  solid  —  bottom  of  the  files).  .   .  . 

Some  successful  Kings  and  Queens  adorn  the  files, 

They  were  great,  their  views  were  leaded. 

And  their  deaths  were  triple-headed, 

So  they  catch  the  eye  in  running  through  the  files 

(Show  as  blazes  in  the  mazes  of  the  files) ; 

For  their  "paramours  and  priests,'* 

And  their  gross,  jack-booted  feasts. 

And  their  "epoch-marking  actions"  see  the  files. 

Was  it  Bomba  fled  the  blue  Sicilian  isles  ? 

Was  it  Saffi,  a  professor 

Once  of  Oxford,  brought  redress  or 

Garibaldi  ?     Who  remembers 

Forty-odd-year  old  Septembers  ?  — 

Only  sextons  paid  to  dig  among  the  files 

(Such  as  I  am,  born  and  bred  among  the  files). 

You  must  hack  through  much  deposit 

Ere  you  know  for  sure  who  was  it 

Came  to  burial  with  such  honour  in  the  files 

(Only  seven  seasons  back  beneath  the  files). 

"Very  great  our  loss  and  grievous  — 

"So  our  best  and  brightest  leave  us, 

"And  it  ends  the  Age  of  Giants,"  say  the  files; 

All  the  '60  —  '70  —  '80  —  '90  files 

(The  open-minded,  opportunist  files  — 

The  easy  "O  King,  live  for  ever"  files). 

It  is  good  to  read  a  little  in  the  files ; 

'T  is  a  sure  and  sovereign  balro 

Unto  philosophic  calm. 

Yea,  and  philosophic  doubt  when  Life  beguiles. 

When  you  know  Success  is  Greatness, 

When  you  marvel  at  your  lateness 

In  apprehending  facts  so  plain  to  Smiles 

(Self-helpful,  wholly  strenuous  Samuel  Smiles). 


238  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

When  your  Imp  of  Blind  Desire 

Bids  you  set  the  Thames  afire. 

You  '11  remember  men  have  done  so  —  in  the  files. 

You  '11  have  seen  those  flames  transpire  —  in  the  files 

(More  than  once  that  flood  has  run  so  —  in  the  files). 

When  the  Conchimarian  horns 

Of  the  reboantic  Norns 

Usher  gentlemen  and  ladies 

With  new  lights  on  Heaven  and  Hades, 

Guaranteeing  to  Eternity 

All  yesterday's  modernity ; 

When  Brocken-spectres  made  by 

Some  one's  breath  on  ink  parade  by. 

Very  earnest  and  tremendous, 

Let  not  shows  of  shows  offend  us. 

When  of  everything  we  like  we 

Shout  ecstatic :  —  "  Quod  tihique, 

*'  Quod  ah  omnibus  means  semper! " 

Oh,  my  brother,  keep  your  temper  ! 

Light  your  pipe  and  take  a  look  along  the  files ! 

You  've  a  better  chance  to  guess 

At  the  meaning  of  Success 

(Which  is  Greatness  —  vide  press) 

When  you  've  seen  it  in  perspective  in  the  files. 


THE   LEGENDS  OF  EVIL 

1890 


1  HIS  is  the  sorrowful  story 

Told  as  the  twilight  fails 
And  the  monkeys  walk  together 
Holding  their  neighbour's  tails : 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  239 

*'Oiir  fathers  lived  in  the  forest, 

"FooHsh  people  were  they, 
**They  went  down  to  the  cornland 

"To  teach  the  farmers  to  play, 

*'Our  fathers  frisked  in  the  millet, 

"Our  fathers  skipped  in  the  wheat, 
"Our  fathers  hung  from  the  branches 

"Our  fathers  danced  in  the  street. 

"Then  came  the  terrible  farmers, 

"Nothing  of  play  they  knew, 
"Only  .  .  .  they  caught  our  fathers 

"And  set  them  to  labour  too  ! 

"Set  them  to  work  in  the  cornland 
"With  ploughs  and  sickles  and  flails, 

"Put  them  in  mud-walled  prisons 
"And  —  cut  off  their  beautiful  tails  ! 

"Now,  we  can  watch  our  fathers, 

"Sullen  and  bowed  and  old, 
"Stooping  over  the  millet, 

"  Sharing  the  silly  mould, 

"Driving  a  foolish  furrow, 

"Mending  a  muddy  yoke, 
"Sleeping  in  mud-walled  prisons, 

"Steeping  their  food  in  smoke. 

"We  may  not  speak  with  our  fathers, 

"  For  if  the  farmers  knew 
"They  would  come  up  to  the  forest 

"And  set  us  to  labour  too." 

This  is  the  horrible  story 

Told  as  the  twilight  fails 
And  the  monkeys  walk  together 

Holding  their  neighbour's  tails. 


240  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 


n 

1  was  when  the  rain  fell  steady  an'  the  Ark  was  pitched  an' 

ready, 
That  Noah  got  his  orders  for  to  take  the  bastes  below ; 
He  dragged  them  all  together  by  the  horn  an'  hide  an'  feather, 
An'  all  excipt  the  Donkey  was  agreeable  to  go. 

Thin  Noah  spoke  him  fairly,  thin  talked  to  him  sevarely, 

An'  thin  he  cursed  him  squarely  to  the  glory  av  the  Lord :  — 
"Divil  take   the  ass  that  bred  you,   and   the  greater  ass  that 
fed  you  — 
"Divil  go  wid   you,  ye  spalpeen!"    an'    the  Donkey  wint 
aboard. 

But  the  wind  was  always  failin',  an'  't  was  most  onaisy  sailin', 
An'  the  ladies  in  the  cabin  could  n't  stand  the  stable  air; 

An'  the  bastes  betwuxt  the  hatches,  they  tuk  an'  died  in  batches, 
Till  Noah  said :  —  "There 's  wan  av  us  that  has  n't  paid  his 
fare!" 

For  he  heard  a  flusteration  'mid  the  bastes  av  all  creation  — 
The  trumpetin'  av  elephints  an'  bellowin'  av  whales; 

An'  he  saw  forninst  the  windy  whin  he  wint  to  stop  the  shindy 
The  Divil  wid  a  stable-fork  bedivillin'  their  tails. 

The  Divil  cursed  outrageous,  but  Noah  said  umbrageous :  — 
"To  what  am  I  indebted  for  this  tenant-right  invasion .?" 

An'  the  Divil  gave  for  answer :  —  "Evict  me  if  you  can,  sir, 
"  For    I    came    in  wid   the    Donkey  —  on   Your  Honour's 
invitation." 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  241 

TOMLINSON 

1891 


N, 


OW  Tomlinson  gave  up  the  ghost  In  his  house  in  Berkeley 

Square, 
And  a  Spirit  came  to  his  bedside  and  gripped  him  by  the  hair  — 
A  Spirit  gripped  him  by  the  hair  and  carried  him  far  away, 
Till  he  heard  as  the  roar  of  a  rain-fed  ford  the  roar  of  the  Milky 

Way: 
Till  he  heard  the  roar  of  the  Milky  Way  die  down  and  drone  and 

cease. 
And  they  came  to  the  Gate  within  the  Wall  where  Peter  holds 

the  keys. 
"Stand  up,  stand  up  now,  Tomlinson,  and  answer  loud  and 

high 
"The  good  that  ye  did  for  the  sake  of  men  or  ever  ye  came  to 

die  — 
"The  good  that  ye  did  for  the  sake  of  men  in  little  earth  so  lone  ! " 
And  the  naked  soul  of  Tomlinson  grew  white  as  a  rain-washed 

bone. 
"O  I  have  a  friend  on  earth,"  he  said,  "that  was  my  priest  and 

guide, 
"And  well  would  he  answer  all  for  me  if  he  were  by  my  side." 
—  "For  that  ye  strove  in  neighbour-love  it  shall  be  written  fair, 
"But  now  ye  wait  at  Heaven's  Gate  and  not  in  Berkeley  Square : 
"Though  we  called  your  friend  from  his  bed  this  night,  he  could 

not  speak  for  you, 
"For  the  race  is  run  by  one  and  one  and  never  by  two  and  two.'* 
Then  Tomlinson  looked  up  and  down,  and  little  gain  was  there. 
For  the  naked  stars  grinned  overhead,  and  he  saw  that  his  soul 

w^as  bare : 
The  W^ind  that  blow^s  between  the  Worlds,  it  cut  him  like  a  knife, 
And  Tomlinson  took  up  the  tale  and  spoke  of  his  good  in  life. 
"  O  this  I  have  read  in  a  book,"  he  said,  "  and  that  was  told  to  me, 

16 


242  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

"And  this  I  have  thought  that  another  man  thought  of  a  Prince 

in  Muscovy." 
The  good  souls  flocked  hke  homing  doves  and  bade  him  clear 

the  path. 
And  Peter  twirled  the  jangling  keys  in  weariness  and  wrath. 
"Ye  have  read,  ye  have  heard,  ye  have  thought,"  he  said,  "and 

the  tale  is  yet  to  run : 
"By  the  worth  of  the  body  that  once  ye  had,  give  answer  — 

what  ha'  ye  done  ?  " 
Then  Tomlinson  looked  back  and  forth,  and  little  good  it  bore, 
For  the  darkness  stayed  at  his  shoulder-blade  and  Heaven's 

Gate  before :  — 
"O  this  I  have  felt,  and  this  I  have  guessed,  and  this  I  have  heard 

men  say, 
"And  this  they  wrote  that   another  man  wrote   of   a  carl  in 

Norroway." 
"Ye  have  read,  ye  have  felt,  ye  have  guessed,  good  lack!    Ye 

have  hampered  Heaven's  Gate; 
"There 's  little  room  betw^een  the  stars  in  idleness  to  prate ! 
* '  O  none  may  reach  by  hired  speech  of  neighbour,  priest,  and  kin 
"Through  borrowed  deed  to  God's  good  meed  that  lies  so  fair 

within ; 
"  Get  hence,  get  hence  to  the  Lord  of  Wrong,  for  doom  has  yet 

to  run, 
"And  .  .  .  the  faith  that  ye  share  with  Berkeley  Square  up- 
hold you,  Tomlinson  ! " 

The  Spirit  gripped  him  by  the  hair,  and  sun  by  sun  they  fell 
Till  they  came  to  the  belt  of  Naughty  Stars  that  rim  the  mouth 

of  Hell : 
The  first  are  red  with  pride  and  wrath,  the  next  are  white  with 

pain, 
But  the  third  are  black  with  clinkered  sin  that  cannot  burn 

again : 
They  may  hold  their  path,  they  may  leave  their  path,  with 

never  a  soul  to  mark. 
They  may  burn  or  freeze,  but  they  must  not  cease  in  tlie  Scorn 

of  the  Outer  Dark. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     K  I  P  1. 1  N  G  243 

The  Wind  that  blows  between  the  Worlds,  it  nipped  him  to 

the  bone, 
And  he  yearned  to  the  flare  of  Hell-gate  there  as  the  light  of 

his  own  hearth-stone. 
The  Devil  he  sat  behind  the  bars,  where  the  desperate  legions 

drew. 
But  he  caught  the  hasting  Tomlinson  and  would  not  let  him 

through. 
"Wot  ye  the  price  of  good  pit-coal  that  I  must  pay?"   said  he, 
"That  ye  rank  yoursel'  so  fit  for  Hell  and  ask  no  leave  of  me? 
"I  am  all  o'er-sib  to  Adam's  breed  that  ye  should  give  me 

scorn, 
"For  I  strove  with  God  for  your  First  Father  the  day  that  he 

w^as  born. 
"Sit  down,  sit  down  upon  the  slag,  and  answer  loud  and  high 
"The  harm  that  ye  did  to  the  Sons  of  Men  or  ever  you  came 

to  die." 
And  Tomlinson  looked  up  and  up,  and  saw  against  the  night 
The  belly  of  a  tortured  star  blood-red  in  Hell-Mouth  light ; 
And  Tomlinson  looked  down  and  down,  and  saw  beneath  his 

feet 
The  frontlet  of  a  tortured  star  milk-white  in  Hell-Mouth  heat. 
"O  I  had  a  love  on  earth,"  said  he,  "that  kissed  me  to  my 

fall, 
"And  if  ye  would  call  my  love  to  me  I  know  she  would  answer 

all." 
—  "All  that  ye  did  in  love  forbid  it  shall  be  written  fair, 
"But  now  ye  wait  at  Hell-Mouth  Gate  and  not  in  Berkeley 

Square : 
"Though  we  whistled  your  love  from  her  bed  to-night,  I  trow 

she  would  not  run, 
"For  the  sin  ye  do  by  two  and  two  ye  must  pay  for  one  by 

one ! 
The  Wind  that  blows  between  the  Worlds,  it  cut  him  like  a 

knife. 
And  Tomlinson  took  up  the  tale  and  spoke  of  his  sin  in  life :  — 
"Once  I  ha'  laughed  at  the  power  of  Love  and  twice  at  the  grip 

of  the  Grave, 


244  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

"And  thrice  I  ha'  patted  my  God  on  the  head  that  men  might 

call  me  brave." 
The  Devil  he  blew  on  a  brandered  soul  and  set  it  aside  to 

cool :  — 
"Do  ye  think  I  would  waste  my  good  pit-coal  on  the  hide  of 

a  brain-sick  fool  ? 
"I  see  no  worth  in  the  hobnailed  mirth  or  the  jolthead  jest  ye  did 
"That  I  should  waken  my  gentlemen  that  are  sleeping  three 

on  a  grid." 
Then  Tomlinson  looked  back  and  forth,  and  there  was  little 

grace, 
For  Hell- Gate  filled  the  houseless  Soul  with  the  Fear  of  Naked 

Space. 
"Nay,  this  I  ha'  heard,"  quo'  Tomlinson,  "and  this  was  noised 

abroad, 
"And  this  I  ha'  got  from  a  Belgian  book  on  the  word  of  a  dead 

French  lord." 
—  "Ye  ha'  heard,  ye  ha'  read,  ye  ha'  got,  good  lack !   and  the 

tale  begins  afresh  — 
"Have  ye  sinned  one  sin  for  the  pride  o'  the  eye  or  the  sinful 

lust  of  the  flesh  ?  " 
Then  Tomlinson  he  gripped  the  bars  and  yammered,   "Let 

me  in  — 
"For  I  mind  that  I  borrowed  my  neighbour's  wife  to  sin  the 

deadly  sin." 
The  Devil  he  grinned  behind  the  bars,  and  banked  the  fires 

high: 
"Did  ye  read  of  that  sin  in  a  book?"  said  he;  and  Tomlinson 

said,  "Ay!" 
The  Devil  he  blew  upon  his  nails,  and  the  little  devils  ran, 
And  he  said:    "Go  husk  this  whimpering  thief  that  comes  in 

the  guise  of  a  man : 
"Winnow  him  out  'twixt  star  and  star,  and  sieve  his  proper 

worth : 
"There's  sore  decline  in  Adam's  line  if  this  be  spawn  of  earth." 
Empusa's  crew,  so  naked-new  tliey  may  not  face  the  fire, 
But  weep  that  they  bin  too  small  to  sin  to  the  height  of  their 

desire, 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  245 

Over  the  coal  they  chased  the  Soul,  and  racked  it  all  abroad, 
As  children  rifle  a  caddis-case  or  the  raven's  foolish  hoard. 
And  back  they  came  with  the  tattered  Thing,  as  children  after 

play, 
And  they  said:    "The  soul  that  he  got  from  God  he  has  bar- 
tered clean  away. 
"AYe  have  threshed  a  stook  of  print  and  book,  and  winnowed 

a  chattering  wnnd 
"And  many  a  soul  wherefrom  he  stole,  but  his  we  cannot  find: 
"We  have  handled  him,  we  have  dandled  him,  we  have  seared 

him  to  the  bone, 
"And  sure  if  tooth  and  nail  show  truth  he  has  no  soul  of  his  own." 
The  Devil  he  bowled  his  head  on  his  breast  and  rumbled  deep 

and  low :  — 
"I'm  all  o'er-sib  to  Adam's  breed  that  I  should  bid  him  go. 
"Yet  close  we  lie,  and  deep  we  lie,  and  if  I  gave  him  place, 
"My  gentlemen  that  are  so  proud  would  flout  me  to  my  face; 
"They  'd  call  my  house  a  common  stews  and  me  a  careless  host, 
"And  — I  would  not  anger  my  gentlemen  for  the  sake  of  a 

shiftless  ghost." 
The  Devil  he  looked  at  the  mangled  Soul  that  prayed  to  feel  the 

flame. 
And  he  thought  of  Holy  Charity,  but  he  thought  of  his  own 

good  name :  — 
"Now  ye  could  haste  my  coal  to  waste,  and  sit  ye  down  to  fry : 
"Did  ye  think  of  that  theft  for  yourself  .5"  said  he;    and  Tom- 

Hnson  said,  "Ay !" 
The  Devil  he  blew  an  outward  breath,  for  his  heart  w^as  free 

from  care :  — 
"Ye  have  scarce  the  soul  of  a  louse,"  he  said,  "but  the  roots  of 

sin  are  there, 
"And  for  that  sin  should  ye  come  in  were  I  the  lord  alone. 
"But  sinful  pride  has  rule  inside  —  and  mightier  than  my  own. 
"Honour  and  Wit,  fore-damned  they  sit,  to  each  his  Priest  and 

Whore : 
"  Nay,  scarce  I  dare  myself  go  there,  and  you  they  'd  torture  sore. 
"Ye  are  neither  spirit  nor  spirk,"  he  said ;  "ye  are  neither  book 

nor  brute  — 


246  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

"  Go,  get  ye  back  to  the  flesh  again  for  the  sake  of  Man's  repute. 

"I  'm  all  o'er-sib  to  Adam's  breed  that  I  should  mock  your  pain, 

"But  look  that  ye  win  to  worthier  sin  ere  ye  come  back  again. 

"  Get  hence,  the  hearse  is  at  your  door  —  the  grim  black  stal- 
lions wait  — 

"They  bear  your  clay  to  place  to-day.  Speed,  lest  ye  come  too 
late! 

*'  Go  back  to  Earth  with  a  lip  unsealed  —  go  back  with  an  open 

eye, 
"And  carry  my  word  to  the  Sons  of  Men  or  ever  ye  come  to  die : 
"That  the  sin  they  do  by  two  and  two  they  must  pay  for  one 

by  one  — 
"And  .  .  .  the  God  that  you  took  from  a  printed  book  be  with 

you,  Tomlinson ! " 


THE  EXPLANATION 

1890 

1_jOVE  and  Death  once  ceased  their  strife 
At  the  Tavern  of  Man's  Life. 
Called  for  wine,  and  threw  —  alas  !  — 
Each  his  quiver  on  the  grass. 
When  the  bout  was  o'er  they  found 
Mingled  arrows  strewed  the  ground. 
Hastily  they  gathered  then 
Each  the  loves  and  lives  of  men. 
Ah,  the  fateful  dawn  deceived  ! 
Mingled  arrows  each  one  sheaved ; 
Death's  dread  armoury  was  stored 
With  the  shafts  he  most  abhorred ; 
Love's  light  quiver  groaned  beneath 
Venom-headed  darts  of  Death. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  247 


Thus  it  was  they  wrouglit  our  woe 

At  the  Tavern  long  ago. 

Tell  me,  do  our  masters  know, 

Loosing  blindly  as  they  fly. 

Old  men  love  while  young  men  die  ? 


THE  ANSWER 

1892 


l\  ROSE,  in  tatters  on  the  garden  path. 

Cried  out  to  God  and  murmured  'gainst  His  Wrath, 

Because  a  sudden  wind  at  twilight's  hush 

Had  snapped  her  stem  alone  of  all  the  bush. 

And  God,  Who  hears  both  sun-dried  dust  and  sun. 

Had  pity,  wiiispering  to  that  luckless  one. 

"Sister,  in  that  thou  sayest  We  did  not  well  — 

What  voices  heardst  thou  when  thy  petals  fell  ?  " 

And  the  Rose  answered,  "In  that  evil  hour 

"  A  voice  said,  'Father,  wherefore  falls  the  flower? 

"  *  For  lo,  the  very  gossamers  are  still.' 

"  And  a  voice  answered,  'Son,  by  Allah's  will ! '" 

Then  softly  as  a  rain-mist  on  the  sward. 

Came  to  the  Rose  the  Answer  of  the  Lord : 

"  Sister,  before  We  smote  the  Dark  in  twain, 

"  Ere  yet  the  stars  saw  one  another  plain, 

"  Time,  Tide,  and  Space,  We  bound  unto  the  task 

"  That  thou  shouldst  fall,  and  such  an  one  should  ask." 

Whereat  the  withered  flower,  all  content. 

Died  as  they  die  w^hose  days  are  innocent; 

While  he  who  questioned  why  the  flower  fell 

Caught  hold  of  God  and  saved  his  soul  from  Hell. 


248  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

THE   GIFT  OF  THE    SEA 
1890 

1  HE  dead  child  lay  in  the  shroud, 

And  the  widow  watched  beside; 
And  her  mother  slept,  and  the  Channel  swept 
The  gale  in  the  teeth  of  the  tide. 

But  the  mother  laughed  at  all. 

"I  have  lost  my  man  in  the  sea, 
"And  the  child  is  dead.     Be  still,"  she  said, 

"What  more  can  ye  do  to  me  ?  " 

The  widow  watched  the  dead, 

And  the  candle  guttered  low. 
And  she  tried  to  sing  the  Passing  Song 

That  bids  the  poor  soul  go. 

And  "Mary  take  you  now,"  she  sang, 

"That  lay  against  my  heart." 
And  "Mary  smooth  your  crib  to-night," 

But  she  could  not  say  "Depart." 

Then  came  a  cry  from  the  sea. 

But  the  sea-rime  blinded  the  glass. 

And  "Heard  ye  nothing,  mother .?"  she  said, 
"'T  is  the  child  that  waits  to  pass." 

And  the  nodding  mother  sighed. 

"  'T  is  a  lambing  ewe  in  the  whin, 
"For  why  should  the  christened  soul  cry  out 

"That  never  knew  of  sin  ?  " 

"O  feet  I  have  held  in  my  hand, 
"O  hands  at  my  heart  to  catch, 

"How  should  they  know  the  road  to  go, 
"And  how  should  they  lift  the  latch?" 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  249 

They  laid  a  sheet  to  the  door, 

^Yith  the  Httle  quilt  atop, 
That  it  might  not  hurt  from  the  cold  or  the  dirt. 

But  the  crying  would  not  stop. 

The  widow  lifted  the  latch 

And  strained  her  eyes  to  see. 
And  opened  the  door  on  the  bitter  shore 

To  let  the  soul  go  free. 

There  was  neither  glimmer  nor  ghost, 

There  was  neither  spirit  nor  spark. 
And  "Heard  ye  nothing,  mother?"  she  said, 

"'Tis  cr}^ing  for  me  in  the  dark." 

And  the  nodding  mother  sighed : 

'"T  is  sorrow  makes  ye  dull ; 
"Have  ye  yet  to  learn  the  cry  of  the  tern, 

"Or  the  wail  of  the  wind-blown  gull .'' " 

"The  terns  are  blown  inland, 

"The  grey  gull  follows  the  plough. 
"'Twas  never  a  bird,  the  voice  I  heard, 

"O  mother,  I  hear  it  now  ! " 

"Lie  still,  dear  lamb,  lie  still; 

"The  child  is  passed  from  harm, 
"  'T  is  the  ache  in  your  breast  that  broke  your  rest, 

"And  the  feel  of  an  empty  arm." 

She  put  her  mother  aside, 

"In  Mary's  name  let  be  ! 
"For  the  peace  of  my  soul  I  must  go,"  she  said, 

And  she  went  to  the  calling  sea. 

In  the  heel  of  the  wnnd-bit  pier. 

Where  the  twisted  weed  was  piled, 
She  came  to  the  life  she  had  missed  by  an  hour 

For  she  came  to  a  little  child. 


250  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

She  laid  it  into  her  breast. 

And  back  to  her  mother  she  came, 

But  it  would  not  feed  and  it  would  not  heed, 
Though  she  gave  it  her  own  child's  name. 

And  the  dead  child  dripped  on  her  breast, 
And  her  own  in  the  shroud  lay  stark ; 

And  "God  forgive  us,  mother,"  she  said, 
"We  let  it  die  in  the  dark ! " 


THE   KING 

1894 


r  AREWELL,  Romance  ! "  the  Cave-men  said ; 

"With  bone  well  carved  he  went  away, 
*'  Flint  arms  the  ignoble  arrowhead, 

*'  And  jasper  tips  the  spear  to-day. 
"  Changed  are  the  Gods  of  Hunt  and  Dance, 
"  And  he  with  these.     Farewell,  Romance  !  " 

"Farewell,  Romance  !"  the  Lake-folk  sighed; 

"We  lift  the  weight  of  flatling  years ; 
*'  The  caverns  of  the  mountain-side 

"  Hold  him  who  scorns  our  hutted  piers. 
"  Lost  hills  whereby  we  dare  not  dwell, 
*'  Guard  ye  his  rest.     Romance,  Farewell ! " 

"Farewell,  Romance  !'*  the  SoWier  spoke; 

"  By  sleight  of  sword  we  may  not  win, 
"  But  scuffle  'mid  uncleanly  smoke 

**  Of  arquebus  and  culverin. 
"Honour  is  lost,  and  none  may  tell 
"Who  paid  good  blows.     Romance,  farewell  !'* 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  251 

*' Farewell,  Romance  !"  the  Traders  cried; 

"Our  keels  have  lain  with  every  sea; 
"The  dull-returning  wind  and  tide 

"Heave  up  the  wharf  where  we  would  be; 
"The  known  and  noted  breezes  swell 
"Our  trudging  sail.     Romance,  farewell !  '* 

"  Good-bye,  Romance  ! "  the  Skipper  said ; 

"He  vanished  with  the  coal  we  burn; 
"Our  dial  marks  full  steam  ahead, 

"Our  speed  is  timed  to  half  a  turn. 
"Sure  as  the  ferried  barge  we  ply 
"  'Twixt  port  and  port.     Romance,  good-bye  ! " 

"Romance  !"  the  season-tickets  mourn, 

''He  never  ran  to  catch  his  train, 
"  But  passed  with  coach  and  guard  and  horn  — 

"And  left  the  local  —  late  again  ! " 
Confound  Romance !  .  .  .  And  all  unseen 
Romance  brought  up  the  nine-fifteen. 

His  hand  was  on  the  lever  laid. 

His  oil-can  soothed  the  worrying  cranks. 

His  whistle  waked  the  snowbound  grade, 
His  fog-horn  cut  the  reeking  Banks ; 

By  dock  and  deep  and  mine  and  mill 

The  Boy-god  reckless  laboured  still ! 

Robed,  crowned  and  throned,  he  wove  his  spell. 
Where  heart-blood  beat  or  hearth-smoke  curled, 

With  unconsidered  miracle. 

Hedged  in  a  backward-gazing  world : 

Then  taught  his  chosen  bard  to  say : 

"Our  King  was  with  us  —  yesterday  ! " 


252  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

THE   LAST  RHYME   OF  TRUE 
THOMAS 

1893 

1  HE  King  has  called  for  priest  and  cup, 

The  King  has  taken  spur  and  blade 
To  dub  True  Thomas  a  belted  knight, 
And  all  for  the  sake  o'  the  songs  he  made. 

They  have  sought  him  high,  they  have  sought  him  low, 
They  have  sought  him  over  down  and  lea ; 

They  have  found  him  by  the  milk-white  thorn 
That  guards  the  gates  o'  Faerie. 

'  T  was  bent  beneath  and  blue  above. 

Their  eyes  were  held  that  they  might  not  see 

The  kine  that  grazed  beneath  the  hnowes. 
Oh,  they  were  the  Queens  o'  Faerie! 

"Now  cease  your  song,"  the  King  he  said, 
"Oh,  cease  your  song  and  get  you  dight 

"To  vow  your  vow  and  watch  your  arms, 
"For  I  will  dub  you  a  belted  knight. 

"  For  I  will  give  you  a  horse  o'  pride, 

**  Wi'  blazon  and  spur  and  page  and  squire; 

"Wi'  keep  and  tail  and  seizin  and  law, 
"And  land  to  hold  at  your  desire." 

True  Thomas  smiled  above  his  harp, 

And  turned  his  face  to  the  naked  sky. 
Where,  blown  before  the  wastrel  wind 

The  thistle-down  she  floated  by. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  253 

"I  ha'  vowed  my  vow  in  another  place, 

*' And  bitter  oath  it  was  on  me, 
"I  ha'  watched  my  arms  the  lee-long  night, 

"Where  five-score  fighting  men  would  flee. 

"My  lance  is  tipped  o'  the  hammered  flame, 

"My  shield  is  beat  o'  the  moonlight  cold; 
"And  I  won  my  spurs  in  the  Middle  World, 

"A  thousand  fathom  beneath  the  mould. 

"And  what  should  I  make  wi'  a  horse  o'  pride, 
"And  what  should  I  make  wi'  a  sword  so  brown, 

"But  spill  the  rings  o'  the  Gentle  Folk 
"And  flyte  my  kin  in  the  Fairy  Town  ? 

"And  what  should  I  make  wi'  blazon  and  belt, 

"Wi'  keep  and  tail  and  seizin  and  fee, 
"And  what  should  I  do  wi'  page  and  squire 

"That  am  a  king  in  my  own  countrie  ? 

"For  I  send  east  and  I  send  west, 

"And  I  send  far  as  my  will  may  flee, 
"By  dawn  and  dusk  and  the  drinking  rain, 

"And  syne  my  Sendings  return  to  me. 

"They  come  wi'  news  of  the  groanin'  earth, 

"They  come  wi'  news  o'  the  roarin'  sea, 
"Wi'  word  of  Spirit  and  Ghost  and  Flesh, 

"And  man,  that's  mazed  among  the  three." 

The  King  he  bit  his  nether  lip. 

And  smote  his  hand  upon  his  knee : 
"By  the  faith  o'  my  soul.  True  Thomas,"  he  said, 

"Ye  waste  no  wit  in  courtesie ! 

"As  I  desire,  unto  my  pride, 

"Can  I  make  Earls  by  three  and  three, 
"To  run  before  and  ride  behind 

"And  serve  the  sons  o'  my  body." 


254  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

"And  what  care  I  for  your  row-foot  earls, 

"Or  all  the  sons  o'  your  body  ? 
"Before  they  win  to  the  Pride  o'  Name, 

*'I  trow  they  all  ask  leave  o'  me. 

"For  I  make  Honour  wi'  muckle  mouth, 
*'As  I  make  Shame  wi'  mincin'  feet, 

"To  sing  wi'  the  priests  at  the  market-cross, 
"Or  run  wi'  the  dogs  in  the  naked  street. 

"And  some  they  give  me  the  good  red  gold, 
"And  some  they  give  me  the  white  money, 

"And  some  they  give  me  a  clout  o'  meal, 
"For  they  be  people  of  low  degree. 

"And  the  song  I  sing  for  the  counted  gold 
"The  same  I  sing  for  the  white  money, 

"But  best  I  sing  for  the  clout  o'  meal 
"That  simple  people  given  me." 

The  King  cast  down  a  silver  groat, 

A  silver  groat  o'  Scots  money, 
"If  I  come  wi'  a  poor  man's  dole,"  he  said, 

"True  Thomas,  will  ye  harp  to  me  ?  " 

"Whenas  I  harp  to  the  children  small, 
"They  press  me  close  on  either  hand. 

"And  who  are  you,"  True  Thomas  said, 

"That  you  should  ride  while  they  must  stand  ? 

"Light  down,  light  down  from  your  horse  o'  pride, 

"I  trow  ye  talk  too  loud  and  hie, 
"And  I  will  make  you  a  triple  word, 

"And  syne,  if  ye  dare,  ye  shall  'noble  me." 

He  has  lighted  down  from  his  horse  o'  pride. 
And  set  his  back  against  the  stone. 

"Now  guard  you  well,"  True  Thomas  said, 
"Ere  I  rax  your  heart  from  your  breast-bone  ! " 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     K  I  P  T.  I  N  G  25i 

True  Thomas  played  upon  his  harp. 

The  fairy  harp  that  couldna  lee, 
And  the  first  least  word  the  proud  King  heard. 

It  harpit  the  salt  tear  out  o'  his  e'e. 

"Oh,  I  see  the  love  that  I  lost  long  syne, 

"I  touch  the  hope  that  I  may  not  see, 
"And  all  that  I  did  o'  hidden  shame, 

"Like  little  snakes  they  hiss  at  me. 

"The  sun  is  lost  at  noon  —  at  noon  ! 

"The  dread  o'  doom  has  grippit  me. 
"True  Thomas,  hide  me  under  your  cloak, 

"  God  wot,  I  'm  little  fit  to  dee  ! " 

'T  was  bent  beneath  and  blue  above  — 

'  T  was  open  field  and  running  flood  — 
Where y  hot  on  heath  and  dijlce  and  wally 

The  high  sun  warmed  the  adder's  brood. 

"Lie  do-^Ti,  lie  dowTi,"  True  Thomas  said. 

"The  God  shall  judge  when  all  is  done 
"But  I  will  bring  you  a  better  word 

"And  lift  the  cloud  that  I  laid  on." 

True  Thomas  played  upon  his  harp. 

That  birled  and  brattled  to  his  hand. 
And  the  next  least  word  True  Thomas  made, 

It  garred  the  King  take  horse  and  brand. 

"Oh,  I  hear  the  tread  o'  the  fighting-men, 

"I  see  the  sun  on  splent  and  spear. 
"I  mark  the  arrow  outen  the  fern 

"That  flies  so  low  and  sings  so  clear ! 

"Advance  my  standards  to  that  war, 

"And  bid  my  good  knights  prick  and  ride; 

"The  gled  shall  watch  as  fierce  a  fight 
"As  e'er  was  fought  on  the  Border  side  !  '* 


^56  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

'jT  was  herd  beneath  and  blue  above, 
'  T  was  nodding  grass  and  naked  sky. 

Where,  ringing  up  the  wastrel  mind. 
The  eyass  stooped  upon  the  pye. 

True  Thomas  sighed  above  his  harp, 

And  turned  the  song  on  the  midmost  string ; 

And  the  last  least  word  True  Thomas  made, 
He  harpit  his  dead  youth  back  to  the  King. 

"Now  I  am  prince,  and  I  do  well 
"To  love  my  love  withouten  fear; 

"To  walk  wi'  man  in  fellowship, 

"And  breathe  my  horse  behind  the  deer. 

"My  hounds  they  bay  unto  the  death, 
"The  buck  has  couched  beyond  the  burn, 

"My  love  she  waits  at  her  window 
"To  wash  my  hands  when  I  return. 

"For  that  I  live  am  I  content 

"  (Oh  !  I  have  seen  my  true  love's  eyes) 

"To  stand  wi'  Adam  in  Eden-glade, 
"And  run  in  the  woods  o'  Paradise  !" 

'  T  was  naked  sky  and  nodding  grass, 
'  T  was  running  flood  and  wastrel  wind, 

Where,  checked  against  the  open  pass. 
The  red  deer  turned  to  wait  the  hind. 

True  Thomas  laid  his  harp  away, 
And  louted  low  at  the  saddle-side ; 

He  has  taken  stirrup  and  hauden  rein. 
And  set  the  King  on  his  horse  o'  pride. 

"Sleep  ye  or  wake,"  True  Thomas  said, 
"That  sit  so  still,  that  muse  so  long; 

"Sleep  ye  or  wake  ?  —  till  the  Latter  Sleep 
"I  trow  ye '11  not  forget  my  song. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  25T 

*'I  ha'  harpit  a  shadow  out  o'  the  sun 

*'To  stand  before  your  face  and  cry; 
*'I  ha'  armed  the  earth  l)cneath  your  heel, 

"And  over  your  head  I  ha'  dusked  the  sky. 

"I  ha'  harpit  ye  up  to  the  throne  o'  God, 
*'I  ha'  harpit  your  midmost  soul  in  three; 

**I  ha'  harpit  ye  down  to  the  Hinges  o'  Hell, 

''And  —  ye  —  would  —  make  —  a  Knight  o'  me  ! " 


THE  PALACE 

1902 


When  I  was  a  King  and  a  Mason  —  a  Master  proven  and 

skilled  — 
I  cleared  me  ground  for  a  Palace  such  as  a  King  should  build. 
I  decreed  and  dug  down  to  my  levels.     Presently,  under  the  silt, 
I  came  on  the  wreck  of  a  Palace  such  as  a  King  had  built. 

There  was  no  worth  in  the  fashion  —  there  was  no  wit  in  the 

plan  — 
Hither  and  thither,  aimless,  the  ruined  footings  ran  — 
Masonry,  brute,  mishandled,  but  carven  on  every  stone : 
''After  me  cometh  a  Builder.     Tell  him,  I  too  have  knoivn" 

Swift  to  my  use  in  my  trenches,  where  my  well-planned  ground- 
works grew, 

I  tumbled  his  quoins  and  his  ashlars,  and  cut  and  reset  them 
anew. 

Lime  I  milled  of  his  marbles;  burned  it,  slacked  it,  and  spread; 

Taking  and  leaving  at  pleasure  the  gifts  of  the  humble  dead. 

17 


258  COLLECTED     VERSE 

Yet  I  despised  not  nor  gloried ;  yet,  as  we  wrenched  them  apart, 
I  read  in  the  razed  foundations  the  heart  of  that  builder's  heart. 
As  he  had  risen  and  pleaded,  so  did  I  understand 
The  form  of  the  dream  he  had  followed  in  the  face  of  the  thing 
he  had  planned. 


When  I  was  a  King  and  a  Mason  —  in  the  open  noon  of  my 

pride. 
They  sent  me  a  Word  from  the  Darkness  —  They  whispered 

and  called  me  aside. 
They  said  —  "The  end  is  forbidden."     They  said  —  "Thy  use 

is  fulfilled. 
"Thy  Palace  shall  stand  as  that  other's  —  the  spoil  of  a  King 

who  shall  build.'* 

I  called  my  men  from  my  trenches,  my  quarries,  my  wharves, 

and  my  sheers. 
All  I  had  wrought  I  abandoned  to  the  faith  of  the  faithless  years. 
Only  I  cut  on  the  timber  —  only  I  carved  on  the  stone : 
Ap;er  me  cometh  a  Builder.     Tell  him,  I  too  have  known! 


BARRACK    ROOM   BALLADS 

I 

INDIAN   SERVICE 

1889-1891 


TO  THOMAS  ATKINS 


-/  HAVE  made  for  you  a  song. 

And  it  may  be  right  or  wrong. 
But  only  you  can  tell  me  if  it  *s  true; 

I  have  tried  for  to  explain 

Both  your  pleasure  and  your  pain, 
Andy  Thomas,  here's  my  best  respects  to  you! 

O  there  'II  surely  come  a  day 

When  they  'II  give  you  all  your  pay. 
And  treat  you  as  a  Christian  ought  to  do; 

So,  until  that  day  comes  round, 

Heaven  keep  you  safe  and  sound, 
Andy  Thomas,  here 's  my  best  respects  to  you! 

R.  K. 


DANNY  DEEVER 

What    are     the    bugles    blowin'    for?"    said    Files-on- 
Parade. 
"To  turn  you  out,  to  turn  you  out,"  the  Colour-Sergeant  said. 
"What  makes  you  look  so  white,  so  white?"  said  Files-on- 

Parade. 
"I'm  dreadin'  what  I've  got  to  watch,"  the  Colour-Sergeant 
said. 


262  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

For  they  're  hangin'  Danny  Deever,  you  can  hear  the  Dead 
March  play. 

The  regiment 's  in  'ollow  square  —  they  're  hangin'  him  to- 
day; 

They've  taken  of  his  buttons  off  an'  cut  his  stripes  away, 

An'  they  're  hangin'  Danny  Deever  in  the  mornin'. 

"What  makes  the  rear-rank  breathe  so  'ard?"  said  Files-on- 

Parade. 
"It's  bitter  cold,  it's  bitter  cold,"  the  Colour-Sergeant  said. 
"What  makes  that  front-rank  man  fall  down?"  says  Files-on- 

Parade. 
"A  touch  o'  sun,  a  touch  o'  sun,"  the  Colour-Sergeant  said. 
They  are  hangin'  Danny  Deever,  they  are  marchin'  of  'im 

round. 
They  'ave  'alted  Danny  Deever  by  'is  coffin  on  the  ground ; 
An'  'e'll  swing  in  'arf  a  minute  for  a  sneakin'  shootin' 

hound  — 
O  they  're  hangin'  Danny  Deever  in  the  mornin' ! 

"  'Is  cot  was  right-'and  cot  to  mine,"  said  Files-on-Parade. 
"  'E  's  sleepin'  out  an'  far  to-night,"  the  Colour-Sergeant  said. 
"I've  drunk  'is  beer  a  score  o'  times,"  said  Files-on-Parade. 
"  'E  's  drinkin'  bitter  beer  alone,"  the  Colour-Sergeant  said. 

They  are  hangin'  Danny  Deever,  you  must  mark  'im  to 
'is  place. 

For  'e  shot  a  comrade  sleepin'  —  you  must  look  'im  in  the 
face; 

Nine  'undred  of  'is  county  an'  the  regiment's  disgrace, 

While  they're  hangin'  Danny  Deever  in  the  mornin'. 

"What's  that  so  black  agin  the  sun  ?"  said  Files-on-Parade. 
"It's  Danny  fightin'  'ard  for  life,"  the  Colour-Sergeant  said. 
"What's  that  that  whimpers  over'ead  ?"  said  Files-on-Parade 
"It's  Danny's  soul  that's  passin'  now,"  the  Colour-Sergeant 
said. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  263 

For  they're  done  with  Danny  Deever,  you  can  'ear  the 

quickstep  play, 
The  regiment 's  in  column,  an'  they  're  marchin'  us  away ; 
Ho !   the  young  recruits  are  shakin',  an'  they  '11  want  their 

beer  to-day. 
After  hangin'  Danny  Deever  in  the  mornin'. 


TOMMY 

I  WENT  into  a  public-'ouse  to  get  a  pint  o'  beer. 
The  publican  'e  up  an'  sez,  "We  serve  no  red-coats  here." 
The  girls  be'ind  the  bar  they  laughed  an'  giggled  fit  to  die, 
I  outs  into  the  street  again  an'  to  myself  sez  I : 

O  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that,  an'  "Tommy,  go 

away"; 
But  it's  "Thank  you.  Mister  Atkins,"  when  the  band 

begins  to  play. 
The  band  begins  to  play,  my  boys,  the  band  begms  to 

play,  . 

O  it's  "Thank  you,  Mister  Atkins,"  when  the  band  begms 

to  play. 

I  went  into  a  theatre  as  sober  as  could  be. 
They  gave  a  drunk  civilian  room,  but  'ad  n't  none  for  me; 
They  sent  me  to  the  gallery  or  round  the  music-'alls. 
But  when  it  comes  to  fightin',  Lord!    they'll  shove  me  m  the 
stalls ! 
For  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that,  an'  "Tommy,  wait 

outside";  , 

But  it's  "Special  train  for  Atkins"  when  the  trooper  s  on 

the  tide,  , 

The  troopship's  on  the  tide,  my  boys,  the  troopship  s  on 

the  tide,  , 

O  it's  "Special  train  for  Atkins"  when  the  trooper  s  on 

the  tide. 


264  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Yes,  makin'  mock  o'  uniforms  that  guard  you  while  you  sleep 
Is  cheaper  than  them  uniforms,  an'  they  're  starvation  cheap ; 
An'  hustlin'  drunken  soldiers  when  they  're  goin'  large  a  bit 
Is  five  times  better  business  than  paradin'  in  full  kit. 

Then  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that,  an'  "Tommy, 

'ow  's  yer  soul  ?  " 
But  it's  "Thin  red  line  of  'eroes"  when  the  drums  begin 

to  roll, 
The  drums  begin  to  roll,  my  boys,  the  drums  begin  to  roll, 
O  it's  "Thin  red  line  of  'eroes"  when  the  drums  begin  to 
roll. 

We  are  n't  no  thin  red  'eroes,  nor  we  are  n't  no  blackguards 

too, 
But  single  men  in  barricks,  most  remarkable  like  you ; 
An'  if  sometimes  our  conduck  is  n't  all  your  fancy  paints. 
Why,  single  men  in  barricks  don't  grow  into  plaster  saints ; 

While  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that,  an'  "Tommy, 

fall  be'ind,"v>«^  v^^  j 
But  it's  "Please  to  walk  in  front,  sir,"  when  there 's  trouble 

in  the  wind. 
There's  trouble  in  the  wind,  my  boys,  there's  trouble  in 

the  wind, 
O  it's  "Please  to  walk  in  front,  sir,"  when  there's  trouble 
in  the  wind. 

You  talk  o'  better  food  for  us,  an'  schools,  an'  fires,  an'  all : 
We  '11  wait  for  extry  rations  if  you  treat  us  rational. 
Don't  mess  about  the  cook-room  slops,  but  prove  it  to  our  face 
The  Widow's  Uniform  is  not  the  soldier-man's  disgrace. 

For  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that,  an'  "Chuck  him 

out,  the  brute  ! " 
But  it's  "Saviour  of  'is  country"  when  the  guns  begin  to 

shoot; 
An'  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that,  an'  anything  you 

please ; 
An'  Tommy  ain't  a  bloomin'  fool  —  you  bet  that  Tommy 
sees ! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  265 

"  FUZZY- WUZZY  " 

{Soudan  Expeditionary  Force) 


W] 


E  'VE  fought  with  many  men  acrost  the  seas, 
An*  some  of  'em  was  brave  an'  some  was  not : 
The  Paythan  an'  the  Zulu  an'  Burmese; 
I     But  the  Fuzzy  was  the  finest  o'  the  lot. 
We  never  got  a  ha'porth's  change  of  'im : 

'E  squatted  in  the  scrub  an'  'ocked  our  'orses, 
'E  cut  our  sentries  up  at  Suakim, 

An'  'e  played  the  cat  an'  banjo  with  our  forces. 

So   'ere's   to  you,   Fuzzy- Wuzzy,   at  your   'ome   in   the 

Soudan ; 
You  're  a  pore  benighted  'eathen  but  a  first-class  fightin' 

man; 
We  gives  you  your  certificate,  an'  if  you  want  it  signed 
We  '11  come  an'  'ave  a  romp  with  you  whenever  you  're 
inclined. 


We  took  our  chanst  among  the  Kyber  'ills, 

The  Boers  knocked  us  silly  at  a  mile. 
The  Burman  give  us  Irriwaddy  chills. 

An'  a  Zulu  impi  dished  us  up  in  style : 
But  all  we  ever  got  frorn  such  as  they 

Was  pop  to  what  the  Fuzzy  made  us  swaller; 
We  'eld  our  bloomin'  own,  the  papers  say. 

But  man  for  man  the  Fuzzy  knocked  us  'oiler. 

Then  'ere 's  to  you.  Fuzzy- Wuzzy,  an'  the  missis  and  the 

kid; 
Our  orders  was  to  break  you,  an'  of  course  we  went  an* 

did. 
We  sloshed  you  with  Martinis,  an'  it  was  n't  'ardly  fair; 
But  for  all  the  odds  agin'  you,  Fuzzy-Wuz,  you  broke 
the  square. 


^66  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

'E  'as  n't  got  no  papers  of  'is  own, 

'E  'as  n't  got  no  medals  nor  rewards. 
So  we  must  certify  the  skill  'e  's  shown 

In  usin'  of  'is  long  two-'anded  swords : 
When  'e  's  'oppin'  in  an'  out  among  the  bush 

With  'is  coffin-'eaded  shield  an'  shovel-spear, 
An  'appy  day  with  Fuzzy  on  the  rush 
Will  last  an  'ealthy  Tommy  for  a  year. 

So  'ere 's  to  you,  Fuzzy- Wuzzy,  an'  your  friends  which  are 

no  more. 
If  we  'ad  n't  lost  some  messmates  we  would  'elp  you  to 
deplore ; 

fBut  give  an'  take 's  the  gospel,  an'  we  '11  call  the  bargain 
fair, 
For  if  you  'ave  lost  more  than  us,  you  crumpled  up  the 
square ! 

'E  rushes  at  the  smoke  when  we  let  drive. 

An',  before  we  know,  'e  's  'ackin'  at  our  'ead ; 
'E  's  all  'ot  sand  an'  ginger  when  alive. 

An'  'e  's  generally  shammin'  when  'e  's  dead. 
'E  's  a  daisy,  'e  's  a  ducky,  'e  's  a  lamb  ! 
'E  's  a  injia-rubber  idiot  on  the  spree, 
'E  's  the  on'y  thing  that  does  n't  give  a  damn 
For  a  Regiment  o'  British  Infantree  ! 

So   'ere's  to  you,   Fuzzy- Wuzzy,  at  your   'ome   in   the 

Soudan ; 
You're  a  pore  benighted  'eathen  but  a  first-class  fightin' 

man; 
An'  'ere 's  to  you.  Fuzzy- Wuzzy,  with  your  'ayrick  'ead 

of  'air  — 
You  big  black  boundin'  beggar  —  for  you  broke  a  British 
square ! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  267 


SOLDIER,   SOLDIER 

Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 
"Why  don't  you  march  with  my  true  love  ?  '* 
"We're  fresh  from  oft'  the  ship  an'  'e 's,  maybe,  give  the  slip, 
"An'  you  'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

New  love  !     True  love  ! 
j      Best  go  look  for  a  new  love, 

/      The  dead  they  cannot  rise,  an'  you  'd  better  dry  your  eyes, 
I      An'  you  'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love. 

"Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

"What  did  you  see  o'  my  true  love  ? " 

"I  seen  'im  serve  the  Queen  in  a  suit  o'  rifle-green, 

"An'  you  'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

"Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

"Did  ye  see  no  more  o'  my  true  love  ? " 

"I  seen  'im  runnin'  by  when  the  shots  begun  to  fly  — 

"But  you  'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

"Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

"Did  aught  take  'arm  to  my  true  love ? " 

"I  could  n't  see  the  fight,  for  the  smoke  it  lay  so  white  — 

"An'  you  'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

"Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  w^ars, 

"I '11  up  an'  tend  to  my  true  love  ! " 

"  'E  's  lying  on  the  dead  with  a  bullet  through  'is  'ead, 

"An'  you  'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

"Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

"I'll  down  an'  die  with  my  true  love  !" 

"The  pit  we  dug '11  'ide  'im  an'  the  twenty  men  beside  'im  — 

"An'  you  'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 


268  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

"Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 
"Do  you  bring  no  sign  from  my  true  love ? " 
"I  bring  a  lock  of  'air  that  'e  alius  used  to  wear, 
"An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

*'  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

"  O  then  I  know  it 's  true  I  've  lost  my  true  love  ! " 

"An'  I  tell  you  truth  again  —  when  you've  lost  the  feel  o'  pain 

"You'd  best  take  me  for  your  new  love." 

True  love  !     New  love  ! 

Best  take  'im  for  a  new  love, 

The  dead  they  cannot  rise,  an'  you  'd  better  dry  your  eyes, 

An'  you  'd  best  take  'im  for  your  new  love. 


SCREW-GUNS 


I^MOKIN'  my  pipe  on  the  mountings,  sniffin'  the   momin'- 

cool, 
I  walks  in  my  old  brown  gaiters  along  o'  my  old  brown  mule. 
With  seventy  gunners  be'ind  me,  an'  never  a  beggar  forgets 
It's  only  the  pick  of  the  Army  that  handles  the  dear  little  pets 
— 'Tss!  'Tss! 
For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns  —  the  screw-guns  they  all 

love  you  ! 
So  when  we  call  round  with  a  few  guns,  o'  course  you 

will  know  what  to  do  —  hoo  !  hoo  ! 
Jest  send  in  your  Chief  an'  surrender  —  it's  worse  if  you 

fights  or  you  runs : 
You  can  go  where  you  please,  you  can  skid  up  the  trees, 
but  you  don't  get  away  from  the  guns  ! 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     K  I  1'  L  I  N  G  269 

They  sends  us  along  where  the  roads  are,  but  mostly  we  goes 

where  they  ain't: 
We'd  climb  up  the  side  of  a  sign-board  an'  trust  to  the  stick 

o'  the  paint: 
We've  chivied  the  Naga  an'  Looshai,  we've  give  the  Afreedee- 

man  fits, 
For  we  fancies  ourselves  at  two  thousand,  we  guns  that  are  built 

in  two  bits  —  'Tss  !  'Tss  ! 

For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns  .  .  . 

If  a  man  does  n't  work,  why,  we  drills  'im  an'  teaches  'im  'ow 

to  behave; 
If  a  beggar  can't  march,  why,  w^e  kills  'im  an'  rattles  'im  into 

'is  grave. 
You've  got  to  stand  up  to  our  business  an'  spring  without 

snatchin'  or  fuss. 
D'  you  say  that  you  sweat  wnth  the  field-guns  ?     By  God,  you 

must  lather  with  us  —  'Tss  !  'Tss  ! 
For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns  .  .   . 

The  eagles  is  screamin'  around  us,  the  river 's  a-moanin'  below. 
We  're  clear  o'  the  pine  an'  the  oak-scrub,  we  're  out  on  the 

rocks  an'  the  snow. 
An'  the  wind  is  as  thin  as  a  whip-lash  w^hat  carries  away  to 

the  plains 
The  rattle  an'  stamp  o'  the  lead-mules  —  the  jinglety  jink  o' 

the  chains  —  'Tss  !  'Tss  ! 

For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns  .  .  . 

There  's  a  wheel  on  the  Horns  o'  the  Mornin',  an'  a  wheel  on 

the  edge  o'  the  Pit, 
An'  a  drop  into  nothin'  beneath  you  as  straight  as  a  beggar 

can  spit: 
With  the  sweat  runnin'  out  o'  your  shirt-sleeves,  an'  the  sun  off 

the  snow  in  your  face, 
An'  'arf  o'  the  men  on  the  drag-ropes  to  hold  the  old  gun  in  'er 

place  — 'Tss!  'Tss! 

For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns  .  .  . 


270  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Smokin'  my  pipe  on  the  mountings,  sniffin'  the  mornin'-cool, 
I  cHmbs  in  my  old  brown  gaiters  along  o'  my  old  brown  mule. 
The  monkey  can  say  what  our  road  was  —  the  wild-goat  'e 

knows  where  we  passed. 
Stand  easy,  you  long-eared  old  darlin's  !   Out  drag-ropes  !  With 
shrapnel!  Hold  fast  — 'Tss  !   'Tss  ! 
For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns  —  the  screw-guns  they  all 

love  you  ! 
So  when  we  take  tea  with  a  few  guns,  o'  course  you  will 
know  what  to  do  —  hoo  !  hoo  ! 
I  Jest  send  in  your  Chief  an'  surrender  —  it 's  worse  if  you 
fights  or  you  runs : 
You  may  hide  in  the  caves,  they  '11  be  only  your  graves, 
but  you  can't  get  away  from  the  guns  ! 


CELLS 

1  'VE  a  head  like  a  concertina :  I  've  a  tongue  like  a  button- 
stick  : 

I've  a  mouth  like  an  old  potato,  and  I'm  more  than  a  little 
sick. 

But  I've  had  my  fun  o'  the  Corp'ral's  Guard:  I've  made  the 
cinders  fly. 

And  I  'm  here  in  the  Clink  for  a  thundering  drink  and  blacking 
the  Corporal's  eye. 

With  a  second-hand  overcoat  under  my  head, 

And  a  beautiful  view  of  the  yard, 
O  it's  pack-drill  for  me  and  a  fortnight's  C.B. 

For  "drunk  and  resisting  the  Guard  !" 

Mad  drunk  and  resisting  the  Guard  — 

'Strewth,  but  I  socked  it  them  hard  ! 
So  it's  pack-drill  for  me  and  a  fortnight's  C.B. 

For  *' drunk  and  resisting  the  Guard." 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  271 

I  started  o'  canteen  porter,  I  finished  o'  canteen  beer, 

But  a  dose  o'  gin  that  a  mate  shpjjcd  in,  it  was  that  that  brought 

me  here. 
'T  was  that  and  an  extry  double  Guard  that  rubbed  my  nose  in 

the  dirt; 
But  I  fell  away  with  the  Corp'ral's  stock  and  the  best  of  the 

Corp'ral's  shirt. 

I  left  my  cap  in  a  public-house,  my  boots  in  the  public  road, 
And  Lord  knows  where,  and  I  don't  care,  my  belt  and  my  tunic 

goed; 
They  '11  stop  my  pay,  they  '11  cut  away  the  stripes  I  used  to  wear, 
But  I  left  my  mark  on  the  Corp'ral's  face,  and  I  think  he  '11  keep 

it  there ! 

My  wife  she  cries  on  the  barrack-gate,  my  kid  in  the  barrack- 
yard. 

It  ain't  that  I  mind  the  Ord'ly  room  —  it 's  that  that  cuts  so  hard. 

I'll  take  my  oath  before  them  both  that  I  will  sure  abstain, 

But  as  soon  as  I  'm  in  with  a  mate  and  gin,  I  know  I  '11  do  it 
again  ! 

With  a  second-hand  overcoat  under  my  head. 

And  a  beautiful  view^  of  the  yard. 
Yes,  it's  pack-drill  for  me  and  a  fortnight's  C.  B. 

For  "drunk  and  resisting  the  Guard  !" 

Mad  drunk  and  resisting  the  Guard  — 

'Strewth,  but  I  socked  it  them  hard  ! 
So  it 's  pack-drill  for  me  and  a  fortnight's  C.  B. 

For  "drunk  and  resisting  the  Guard." 


•    '"     GUNGA  DIN 

I  OU  may  talk  o'  gin  and  beer 
When  you  're  quartered  safe  out  'ere, 
An'  you're  sent  to  penny-fights  an'  Aldershot  it; 
But  when  it  comes  to  slaughter 


27a  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

You  will  do  your  work  on  water, 

An'  you  '11  lick  the  bloomin'  boots  of  'im  that's  got  it. 

Now  in  Injia's  sunny  clime, 

Where  I  used  to  spend  my  time 

A-servin'  of  'Er  Majesty  the  Queen, 

Of  all  them  blackfaced  crew 

The  finest  man  I  knew 

Was  our  regimental  bhisti,  Gunga  Din. 

He  was  *'Din!  Din!  Din! 
"You  limpin'  lump  o'  brick-dust,  Gunga  Din  ! 

"Hi !  slippery  hither ao! 

"Water,  get  it !     Panee  lao!  ^ 
"You  squidgy-nosed  old  idol,  Gunga  Din." 

The  uniform  'e  wore 

Was  nothin'  much  before. 

An'  rather  less  than  'arf  o'  that  be'ind, 

For  a  piece  o'  twisty  rag 

An'  a  goatskin  water-bag 

Was  all  the  field-equipment  'e  could  find. 

When  the  sweatin'  troop-train  lay 

In  a  sidin'  through  the  day. 

Where  the  'eat  would  make  your  bloomin'  eyebrows  crawl, 

We  shouted  "Harry  By!"  ^ 

Till  our  throats  were  bricky-dry. 

Then  we  wopped  'im  'cause  'e  could  n't  serve  us  all. 

It  was  "Din!  Din!  Din! 
"You  'eathen,  where  the  mischief  'ave  you  been  ? 

"You  put  some  juldee  ^  in  it 

"  Or  I  '11  marrow  *  you  this  minute 
"If  you  don't  fill  up  my  helmet,  Gunga  Din  ! " 

'E  would  dot  an'  carry  one 

Till  the  longest  day  was  done ; 

An'  'e  did  n't  seem  to  know  the  use  o'  fear. 

If  we  charged  or  broke  or  cut, 

^  Bring  water  swiftly.  ^  Mr.  Atkins's  equivalent  for  "  O  Brother." 

*  Be  quick.  *  Hit  you. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  273 

You  could  bet  your  bloomin'  nut, 
'E'd  be  waitin'  fifty  paces  right  flank  rear. 
With  'is  mussick  ^  on  'is  back, 
'E  would  skip  with  our  attack. 
An'  watch  us  till  the  bugles  made  "Retire  " 
An'  for  all  'is  dirty  'ide 
'E  was  white,  clear  white,  inside 
When  'e  went  to  tend  the  wounded  under  fire  ! 
It  was  "Din!  Din!  Din!" 
With  the  bullets  kickin'  dust-spots  on  the  green 
When  the  cartridges  ran  out. 
You  could  hear  the  front-ranks  shout, 
"Hi !  ammunition-mules  an'  Gunga  Din  ! " 

I  sha'n't  forgit  the  night 

When  I  dropped  be'ind  the  fight 

With  a  bullet  where  my  belt-plate  should  'a'  been. 

I  was  chokin'  mad  with  thirst, 

An'  the  man  that  spied  me  first 

W^as  our  good  old  grinnin',  gruntin'  Gunga  Din. 

'E  lifted  up  my  'ead. 

An'  he  plugged  me  where  I  bled, 

An'  'e  guv  me  'arf-a-pint  o'  water-green : 

It  was  crawlin'  and  it  stunk. 

But  of  all  the  drinks  I  've  drunk, 

I  'm  gratefullest  to  one  from  Gunga  Din. 

It  was  "Din!  Din!  Din! 
"  'Ere 's  a  beggar  w^ith  a  bullet  through  'is  spleen ; 

"  'E  's  chawin'  up  the  ground, 

"An'  'e's  kickin'  all  around: 
"For  Gawd's  sake  git  the  water,  Gunga  Din  ! " 

'E  carried  me  away 

To  where  a  dooli  lay, 

An'  a  bullet  come  an'  drilled  the  beggar  clean. 

'E  put  me  safe  inside, 

^  Water-skin. 
18 


274  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

An'  just  before  'e  died, 

"I  'ope  you  liked  your  drink,"  sez  Gunga  Din. 

So  I  '11  meet  'im  later  on 

At  the  place  where  'e  is  gone  — 

Where  it 's  always  double  drill  and  no  canteen ; 

'E  '11  be  squattin'  on  the  coals 

Givin'  drink  to  poor  damned  souls, 

An'  I  '11  get  a  swig  in  hell  from  Gunga  Din  ! 
Yes,  Bn  !  Din  !  Din  ! 
You  Lazarushian-leather  Gunga  Din  ! 

Though  I  've  belted  you  and  flayed  you, 
By  the  livin'  Gawd  that  made  you, 
You  're  a  better  man  than  I  am,  Gunga  Din  ! 


OONTS 

(Northern  India  Transport   Train) 

OT  makes  the  soldier's  'eart  to  penk,  wot  makes  'im  to 
perspire  ? 

It  is  n't  standin'  up  to  charge  nor  lyin'  down  to  fire; 
But  it 's  everlastin'  waitin'  on  a  everlastin'  road 
For  the  commissariat  camel  an'  'is  commissariat  load. 
O  the  oont,^  O  the  oont,  O  the  commissariat  oont ! 

With  'is  silly  neck  a-bobbin'  like  a  basket  full  o'  snakes; 
We  packs  'im  like  an  idol,  an'  you  ought  to  'ear  'im  grunt. 
An'  when  we  gets  'im  loaded  up  'is  blessed  girth-rope 
breaks. 

Wot  makes  the  rear-guard  swear  so  'ard  when  night  is  drorin'  in, 
An'  every  native  follower  is  shiverin'  for  'is  skin  ? 
It  ain't  the  chanst  o'  being  rushed  by  Paythans  from  the  'ills, 
It's  the  commissariat  camel  puttin'  on  'is  bloomin'  frills  ! 

1  Camel :  —  oo  is  pronounced  like  u  in  "bull,"  but  by  ]Mr.  Atkins  to  rhyme 
with  "front." 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     K  I  P  L  I  N  G  275 

O  the  oont,  O  the  oont,  O  the  hairy  scary  oont ! 

A-trippin'    over   tent-ropes   when    we  've   got   the   night 
alarm  ! 
We  socks  'ira  with  a  stretcher-pole  an'  'eads  'im  off  in  front. 
An'  when  we've  saved   'is  bloomin'  life   'e  chaws  our 
bloomin'   arm. 

The  'orse  'e  knows  above  a  bit,  the  bullock 's  but  a  fool. 
The  elephant's  a  gentleman,  the  battery-mule  's  a  mule; 
But  the  commissariat  cam-u-el,  when  all  is  said  an'  done, 
'E  's  a  devil  an'  a  ostrich  an'  a  orphan-child  in  one. 

O  the  oont,  O  the  oont,  O  the  Gawd-forsaken  oont ! 

The  lumpy-'umpy  'ummin'-bird  a-singin'  where  'e  lies, 
'E  's  blocked  the  w^hole  division  from  the  rear-guard  to  the 
front. 
An'  when  we  get  him  up  again  —  the  beggar  goes  an'  dies  ! 

'E  '11  gall  an'  chafe  an'  lame  an'  fight  —  'e  smells  most  aw^ul 

vile; 
'E  '11  lose  'isself  for  ever  if  you  let  'im  stray  a  mile ; 
'E's  game  to  graze  the  *ole  day  long  an'  'owl  the  'ole  night 

through. 
An'  when  'e  comes  to  greasy  ground  'e  splits  'isself  in  two. 
O  the  oont,  O  the  oont,  O  the  floppin',  droppin'  oont ! 
When  'is  long  legs  give  from  under  an'  'is  meltin'  eye  is 
dim, 
The  tribes  is  up  be'ind  us,  and  the  tribes  is  out  in  front  — 
It  ain't  no  jam  for  Tommy,  but  it 's  kites  an'  crows  for  'im. 

So  when  the  cruel  march  is  done,  an'  when  the  roads  is  blind. 
An'  when  we  sees  the  camp  in  front  an'  'ears  the  shots  be'ind, 
Ho  !  then  we  strips  'is  saddle  off,  and  all  'is  woes  is  past : 
'E  thinks  on  us  that  used  'im  so,  and  gets  revenge  at  last. 
O  the  oont,  O  the  oont,  O  the  floatin',  bloatin'  oont ! 

The  late  lamented  camel  in  the  water-cut  'e  lies ; 
We  keeps  a  mile  be'ind  'im  an'  we  keeps  a  mile  in  front. 
But  'e  gets  into  the  drinkin'-casks,  and  then  o'  course  we 
dies. 


276  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 


LOOT 


I 


F  you  've  ever  stole  a  pheasant-egg  be'ind  the  keeper's  back. 
If  you  've  ever  snigged  the  washin'  from  the  Hne, 
If  you  've  ever  crammed  a  gander  in  your  bloomin'  'aversack, 

You  will  understand  this  little  song  o'  mine. 
But  the  service  rules  are  'ard,  an'  from  such  we  are  debarred. 
For  the  same  with  English  morals  does  not  suit. 
{Cornet:  Toot!  toot!) 
W'y,  they  call  a  man  a  robber  if  'e  stuffs  'is  marchin'  clobber 

With  the  — 
(Chorus)  Loo  !  loo  !      Lulu  !  lulu  !      Loo  !  loo  !      Loot !  loot ! 
loot! 

Ow  the  loot ! 
Bloomin'  loot ! 
That 's  the  thing  to  make  the  boys  git  up  an'  shoot ! 
It's  the  same  vvith  dogs  an'  men. 
If  you  'd  make  'em  come  again 
Clap  'em  forward  with  a  Loo  !  loo  !     Lulu  !     Loot ! 
(ff)    Whoopee  !      Tear    'im,    puppy  !      Loo  !    loo  !      Lulu  ! 
Loot !  loot !  loot ! 


If  you've  knocked  a  nigger  edgeways  when  'e  's  thrustin'  for 
your  life. 
You  must  leave  'im  very  careful  where  'e  fell ; 
An'  may  thank  your  stars  an'  gaiters  if  you  did  n't  feel   'is 
knife 
That  you  ain't  told  off  to  bury  'im  as  well. 
Then  the  sweatin'  Tommies  wonder  as  they  spade  the  beggars 
under 
Why  lootin'  should  be  entered  as  a  crime ; 
So  if  my  song  you  '11  'ear,  I  will  learn  you  plain  an'  clear 
'Ow  to  pay  yourself  for  fightin'  overtime. 
(Chorus)    With  the  loot,  .  .  . 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  277 

Now  remember  when  you're  'acking  round  a  gilded   Burma 

gotl 
That  'is  eyes  is  very  often  precious  stones ; 
An'  if  you  treat  a  nigger  to  a  dose  o'  cleanin'-rod 

'E  's  Hke  to  show  you  everything  'e  owns. 
When   'e  won't  prodooce  no  more,  pour  some  water  on  the 
floor 
Where  you  'ear  it  answer  'ollow  to  the  boot  * 

{Cornet:  Toot!  toot!)  — 
When  the  ground  begins  to  sink,  shove  your  baynick  down  the 
chink. 
An'  you  're  sure  to  touch  the  — 
(Chorus)  Loo  !  loo  !     Lulu  !     Loot !  loot !  loot ! 
Ow  the  loot !  .  .  . 


When  from   'ouse  to   'ouse  you're  'unting,  you  must  always 
work  in  pairs  — 
It  'alves  the  gain,  but  safer  you  will  find  — 
For  a  single  man  gets  bottled  on  them  twisty-wisty  stairs, 

An'  a  woman  comes  and  clobs  'im  from  be'ind. 
When  you've  turned   'em  inside  out,  an'  it  seems  beyond  a 
doubt 
As  if  there  were  n't  enough  to  dust  a  flute 
(Cornet:  Toot!  toot !) — 
Before  you  sling  your  'ook,  at  the  'ousetops  take  a  look. 
For  it 's  underneath  the  tiles  they  'ide  the  loot. 
(Chorus)     Ow  the  loot !  .  .  . 


You  can  mostly  square  a  Sergint  an'  a  Quartermaster  too. 

If  you  only  take  the  proper  way  to  go ; 
/  could  never  keep  my  pickin's,  but  I've  learned  you  all  I 
knew  — 
An'  don't  you  never  say  I  told  you  so. 
An'  now  I  '11  bid  good-bye,  for  I  'm  gettin'  rather  dry. 
An'  I  see  another  tunin'  up  to  toot 
(Cornet:  Toot !  toot !)  — 


278  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

So  'ere 's  good-luck  to  those  that  wears  the  Widow's  clo'es, 
An'  the  Devil  send  'em  all  they  want  o'  loot ! 
(Chorus)     Yes,  the  loot, 

Bloomin'  loot ! 
In  the  tunic  an'  the  mess-tin  an'  the  boot ! 
It's  the  same  with  dogs  an'  men, 
If  you  'd  make  'em  come  again. 
(///)  Whoop    'em   forward   with   a   Loo !  loo !     Lulu !     Loot ! 
loot!  loot! 
Heeya !        Sick     'im,     puppy !       Loo !       loo !       Lulu ! 
Loot!  loot!  loot! 


"  SNARLEYOW 


1  HIS  'appened  in  a  battle  to  a  batt'ry  of  the  corps 
Which  is  first  among  the  women  an'  amazin'  first  in  war; 
An'  what  the  bloomin'  battle  was  I  don't  remember  now, 
But  Two 's  off-lead  'e  answered  to  the  name  o'  Snarleyow. 

Down  in  the  Infantry,  nobody  cares ; 

Down  in  the  Cavalry,  Colonel  'e  swears; 

But  down  in  the  lead  with  the  wheel  at  the  flog 

Turns  the  bold  Bombardier  to  a  little  whipped  dog ! 

They  was  movin'  into  action,  they  was  needed  very  sore, 

To  learn  a  little  schoolin'  to  a  native  army  corps, 

They  'ad  nipped  against  an  uphill,  they  was  tuckin'  down  the 

brow, 
When  a  tricky,  trundlin'  roundshot  give  the  knock  to  Snarlcyoic. 

They  cut  'im  loose  an'  left  'im  —  'e  was  almost  tore  in  two  — 
But  he  tried  to  follow  after  as  a  well-trained  'orse  should  do ; 
'E  went  an'  fouled  the  limber,  an'  the  Driver's  Brother  squeals: 
"Pull  up,  pull  up  for  Snarleyow  —  'is  head  's  between  'is  'eels  !  " 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  279 

The  Driver  'umped  'is  shoulder,  for  the  wheels  was  goin'  round. 
An'  there  ain't  no  "Stop,  conductor  ! "  when  a  batt'ry  's  changin' 

ground ; 
Sez  'e:  "I  broke  the  beggar  in,  an'  very  sad  I  feels, 
*'But  I  could  n't  pull  up,  not  for  you  —  your  'ead  between  your 

'eels ! " 

'E  'ad  n't  'ardly  spoke  the  word,  before  a  droppin'  shell 

A  little  right  the  batt'ry  an'  between  the  sections  fell; 

An'  when  the  smoke  'ad  cleared  away,  before  the  limber  wheels, 

There  lay  the  Driver's  Brother  with  'is  'ead  between  'is  'eels. 

Then  sez  the  Driver's  Brother,  an'  'is  words  was  very  plain, 
"For  Gawd's  own  sake  get  over  me,  an'  put  me  out  o'  pain." 
They  saw  'is  wounds  was  mortial,  an'  they  judged  that  it  was 

best. 
So  they  took  an'  drove  the  limber  straight  across  'is  back  an' 

chest. 

The  Driver  'e  give  nothin'  'cept  a  little  coughin'  grunt. 

But  'e  swung  'is   'orses   'andsome  when   it  came  to  "Action 

Front ! " 
An'  if  one  wheel  was  juicy,  you  may  lay  your  Monday  head 
'T  was  juicier  for  the  niggers  when  the  case  begun  to  spread. 

The  moril  of  this  story,  it  is  plainly  to  be  seen : 
You  'av  n't  got  no  families  when  servin'  of  the  Queen  —     / 
You  'av  n't  got  no  brothers,  fathers,  sisters,  wives,  or  sons  — 
If  you  want  to  win  your  battles  take  an'  work  your  bloomin' 
guns  ! 

DowTi  in  the  Infantry,  nobody  cares ; 

Down  in  the  Cavalry,  Colonel  'e  swears ; 

But  down  in  the  lead  with  the  wheel  at  the  flog 

Turns  the  bold  Bombardier  to  a  little  whipped  dog ! 


280  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 


THE  WIDOW  AT  WINDSOR 

i\VE  you  'eard  o'  the  Widow  at  Windsor 

With  a  hairy  gold  crown  on  'er  'ead? 
She  'as  ships  on  the  foam  —  she  'as  milHons  at  'ome, 
An'  she  pays  us  poor  beggars  in  red. 
(Ow,  poor  beggars  in  red!) 
There  's  'er  nick  on  the  cavalry  'orses, 

There  's  'er  mark  on  the  medical  stores  — 
An'  'er  troopers  you  '11  find  with  a  fair  wind  be'ind 
That  takes  us  to  various  wars. 

(Poor  beggars !  —  barbarious  wars !) 

Then  'ere  's  to  the  Widow  at  Windsor, 
An'  'ere  's  to  the  stores  an'  the  guns, 
The  men  an'  the  'orses  what  makes  up  the  forces 

O'  Missis  Victorier's  sons. 
(Poor  beggars  !   Victorier's  sons !) 

Walk  wide  o'  the  Widow  at  Windsor, 

For  'alf  o'  Creation  she  owns : 
We  'ave  bought  'er  the  same  with  the  sword  an'  the  flame, 
An'  we  've  salted  it  down  with  our  bones. 

(Poor  beggars!  —  it's  blue  with  our  bones!) 
Hands  off  o'  the  sons  o'  the  Widow, 

Hands  off  o'  the  goods  in  'er  shop. 
For  the  Kings  must  come  down  an'  the  Emperors  fro^^Ti 
When  the  Widow  at  Windsor  says  "  Stop !  " 
(Poor  beggars  !  —  we  're  sent  to  say  "  Stop !  ") 
Then  'ere  's  to  the  Lodge  o'  the  Widow, 

From  the  Pole  to  the  Tropics  it  runs  — 
To  the  Lodge  that  we  tile  with  the  rank  an'  the 
file, 
An'  open  in  form  with  the  guns. 
(Poor  beggars!  —  it's  always  they  guns!) 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  281 

Wc  'ave  'eard  o'  the  Widow  at  Windsor, 

It 's  safest  to  let  'er  alone : 
For  'er  sentries  we  stand  by  the  sea  an'  the  land 
Wherever  the  bugles  are  blown. 

(Poor  beggars!  —  an'  don't  we  get  blown!) 
Take  'old  o'  the  Wings  o'  the  Momin', 

An'  flop  round  the  earth  till  you  're  dead ; 
But  you  won't  get  away  from  the  tune  that  they  play 
To  the  bloomin'  old  rag  over'ead. 

(Poor  beggars  !  —  it 's  'ot  over'ead  !) 

Then  'ere  's  to  the  sons  o'  the  Widow, 

Wherever,  'owever  they  roam. 
'Ere  's  all  they  desire,  an'  if  they  require 

A  speedy  return  to  their  'ome. 
(Poor  beggars!  —  they  '11  never  see  'ome!) 


BELTS 

There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street  that 's  near  to  Dublin 

Quay, 
Between  an  Irish  regiment  an'  English  cavalree ; 
It  started  at  Revelly  an'  it  lasted  on  till  dark: 
The  first  man  dropped  at  Harrison's,  the  last  fornmst  the 

Park. 
For' it  was:  —  "  Belts,  belts,  belts,  an'  that 's  one  for 

you !  " 
An'  it  was  "  Belts,  belts,  belts,  an'  that 's  done  for 

you !  " 
O  buckle  an'  tongue 
Was  the  song  that  we  sung 
From  Harrison's  down  to  the  Park! 

There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street  —  the  regiments  was  out. 
They  called  us  "Delhi  Rebels,"  an'  we  answered  "Threes 
about!" 


282  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

That  drew  them  like  a  hornet's  nest  —  we  met  them  good  an' 

large, 
The  English  at  the  double  an'  the  Irish  at  the  charge. 
Then  it  was :  —  "  Belts  .  .  . 


There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street  —  an'  I  was  in  it  too ; 
We  passed  the  time  o'  day,  an'  then  the  belts  went  whirraru ! 
I  misremember  what  occurred,  but  subsequint  the  storm 
A  Freeman's  Journal  Supplemint  was  all  my  uniform. 
O  it  was :  —  "  Belts  .  .  . 


There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street  —  they  sent  the  Polis  there, 
The  Enghsh  were  too  drunk  to  know,  the  Irish  did  n't  care ; 
But  when  they  grew  impertinint  we  simultaneous  rose, 
Till  half  o'  them  was  Liffey  mud  an'  half  was  tatthered  clo'es. 
For  it  was :  —  "  Belts  .   .  . 


There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street  —  it  might  ha'  raged  till 

now, 
But  some  one  drew  his  side-arm  clear,  an'  nobody  knew  how ; 
'T  was  Hogan  took  the  point  an'  dropped ;  we  saw  the  red 

blood  run : 
An'  so  we  all  was  murderers  that  started  out  in  fun. 
While  it  was :  "  Belts  .   .   . 


There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street  —  but  that  put  down  the 

shine, 
Wid  each  man  whisperin'  to  his  next :  —  «  "p  ^^s  never  work 

o'  mine!  " 
We  went  away  like  beaten  dogs,  an'  down  the  street  we  bore 

him. 
The  poor  dumb  corpse  that  could  n't  tell  the  bhoys  were  sorry 

for  him. 
When  it  was  :  —  "  Belts  .   .   . 


RUDYARD     KIPLING 


283 


There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street  —  it  is  n't  over  yet, 
For  half  of  us  are  under  guard  wid  punishments  to  get; 
'T  is  all  a  merriclc  to  me  as  in  the  Clink  I  he : 
There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street —  begod,  I  wonder  why 

But  it  was :  —  "  Belts,  belts,  belts,  an'  that  s  one  for 

An'  ft^'was  "  Belts,  belts,  belts,  an'  that 's  done  for 

you !  " 
O  buckle  an'  tongue 
Was  the  song  that  we  sung 
From  Harrison's  down  to  the  Park! 


THE  YOUNG  BRITISH   SOLDIER 

When  the  'arf-made  recruity  goes  out  to  the  East 
'E  acts  Hke  a  babe  an'  'e  drinks  like  a  beast. 
An'  'e  wonders  because  'e  is  frequent  deceased 
Ere  'e  's  fit  for  to  serve  as  a  soldier. 
Serv^e,  serve,  ser\^e  as  a  soldier. 
Serve,  serve,  serve  as  a  soldier, 
Ser\^e,  serve,  serve,  as  a  soldier, 
So-oldier  of  the  Queen ! 

Now  all  you  recruities  what 's  drafted  to-day. 
You  shut  up  your  rag-box  an'  'ark  to  my  lay, 
An'  I  '11  sing  you  a  soldier  as  far  as  I  may : 
A  soldier  what 's  fit  for  a  soldier. 
Fit,  fit,  fit  for  a  soldier  .   .   . 

First  mind  you  steer  clear  o'  the  grog-sellers'  huts. 
For  they  sell  you  Fixed  Bay'nets  that  rots  out  your  guts- 
Ay,  drink  that  'ud  eat  the  live  steel  from  your  butts  — 
An'  it 's  bad  for  the  young  British  Soldier. 
Bad,  bad,  bad  for  the  soldier  ... 


284  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

When  the  cholera  comes  —  as  it  will  past  a  doubt  — 
Keep  out  of  the  wet  and  don't  go  on  the  shout, 
For  the  sickness  gets  in  as  the  liquor  dies  out, 
I  An'  it  crumples  the  young  British  soldier. 

Crum-,  crum-,  crumples  the  soldier  .  .  . 

But  the  worst  o'  your  foes  is  the  sun  over'ead: 
You  rmjist  wear  your  'elmet  for  all  that  is  said : 
If  'e  finds  you  uncovered  'e  '11  knock  you  down  dead, 

\  An'  you  '11  die  like  a  fool  of  a  soldier. 

^  Fool,  fool,  fool  of  a  soldier  .  .  . 

If  you  're  cast  for  fatigue  by  a  sergeant  unkind. 
Don't  grouse  like  a  woman  nor  crack  on  nor  blind; 
Be  handy  and  civil,  and  then  you  will  find 

;    That  it 's  beer  for  the  young  British  soldier. 

I  Beer,  beer,  beer  for  the  soldier  .  .  . 

Now,  if  you  must  marry,  take  care  she  is  old  — 
A  troop-sergeant's  widow  's  the  nicest,  I  'm  told, 
For  beauty  won't  help  if  your  rations  is  cold. 
Nor  love  ain't  enough  for  a  soldier. 

'Nough,  'nough,  'nough  for  a  soldier  .  .  . 

If  the  wife  should  go  wrong  with  a  comrade,  be  loth 

To   shoot   when   you   catch   'em  —  you  '11   swing,    on   my 

oath !  — 
Make  'im  take  'er  and  keep  'er :  that 's  Hell  for  them  both, 
An'  you  're  shut  o'  the  curse  of  a  soldier. 
Curse,  curse,  curse  of  a  soldier  .   .  . 

When  first  under  fire  an'  you  're  wishful  to  duck, 
Don't  look  nor  take  'eed  at  the  man  that  is  struck, 
Be  thankful  you  're  livin',  and  trust  to  your  luck 
And  march  to  your  front  like  a  soldier. 

Front,  front,  front  like  a  soldier  .   .   . 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  ^85 

When  'arf  of  your  bullets  fly  wide  in  the  ditch, 
Don't  call  your  Martini  a  cross-eyed  old  bitch ; 
She  's  human  as  you  are  —  you  treat  her  as  sich, 
An'  she  '11  fight  for  the  young  British  soldier. 
Fight,  fight,  fight  for  the  soldier  .   .  . 

When  shakin'  their  bustles  like  ladies  so  fine. 
The  guns  o'  the  enemy  wheel  into  line. 
Shoot  low  at  the  limbers  an'  don't  mind  the  shine, 
For  noise  never  startles  the  soldier. 

Start-,  start-,  startles  the  soldier  .  .   . 

If  your  officer  's  dead  and  the  sergeants  look  wliite. 
Remember  it 's  ruin  to  run  from  a  fight : 
So  take  open  order,  lie  down,  and  sit  tight, 
And  wait  for  supports  like  a  soldier. 

Wait,  wait,  wait  like  a  soldier  .  .  . 

When  you  're  wounded  and  left  on  Afghanistan's  plains. 
And  the  women  come  out  to  cut  up  what  remains, 
Jest  roll  to'  your  rifle  and  blow  out  your  brains 
An'  go  to  your  Gawd  like  a  soldier. 
Go,  go,  go  like  a  soldier. 
Go,  go,  go  like  a  soldier. 
Go,  go,  go  like  a  soldier, 
So-oldier  of  the  Queen ! 


r        MANDALAY 

IJY  the  old  Moulmein  Pagoda,  lookin'  eastward  to  the  sea. 
There  's  a  Burma  girl  a-settin',  and  I  know  she  thinks  o'  me ; 
For  the  wind  is  in  the  palm-trees,  and  the  temple-bells  they 

say: 
"  Come  you  back,  you  British  soldier ;    come  you  back  to 

Mandalay !  " 


286  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Come  you  back  to  Mandalay, 

Where  the  old  Flotilla  lay : 

Can't  you  'ear  their  paddles  chunkin'  from  Rangoon  to 

Mandalay  ? 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay, 
Where  the  flyin'-fishes  play, 
An'  the  dawn  comes  up  hke  thunder  outer  China  'crost 

the  Bay ! 

'Er  petticoat  was  yaller  an'  'er  httle  cap  was  green. 

An'  'er  name  was  Supi-yaw-lat  —  jes'  the  same  as  Theebaw's 

Queen, 
An'  I  seed  her  first  a-smokin'  of  a  whackin'  white  cheroot. 
An'  a-wastin'  Christian  kisses  on  an  'eathen  idol's  foot : 
Bloomin'  idol  made  o'  mud  — 
Wot  they  called  the  Great  Gawd  Budd  — 
Plucky  lot  she  cared  for  idols  when  I  kissed  'er  where 

she  stud! 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay  .  .  . 

When  the  mist  was  on  the  rice-fields  an'  the  sun  was  droppin' 

slow. 
She  'd  git  'er  little  banjo  an'  she  'd  sing  ** Kulla-lo-lo !  *' 
With  'er  arm  upon  my  shoulder  an'  'er  cheek  agin  my  cheek 
We  useter  watch  the  steamers  an'  the  hathis  pilin'  teak. 

Elephints  a-pilin'  teak 

In  the  sludgy,  squdgy  creek. 

Where  the  silence  'ung  that  'eavy  you  was  'arf  afraid 
to  speak ! 

On  the  road  to  Mandalay  .   .  . 

But  that 's  all  shove  be'ind  me  —  long  ago  an'  fur  away, 
An'  there  ain't  no  'busses  runnin'  from  the  Bank  to  Man- 
dalay ; 
An'  I  'm  leamin'  'ere  in  London  what  the  ten-year  soldier  tells : 
"  If  you  've   'card  the  East   a-callin',  you   won't   never  'eed 
naught  else." 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  287 

No !   you  won't  'ced  nothin'  else 

But  them  spicy  garlic  smells, 

An'   the   sunshine   an'   the   palm-trees   an'   the   tinkly 

temple-bells ; 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay  .  .  . 

I  am  sick  o'  wastin'  leather  on  these  gritty  pavin'-stones, 
An'  the  blasted  Henglish  drizzle  wakes  the  fever  in  my  bones ; 
Tho'  I  walks  with  fifty  'ousemaids  outer  Chelsea  to  the  Strand, 
An'  they  talks  a  lot  o'  lovin',  but  wot  do  they  understand? 

Beefy  face  an'  grubby  'and  — 

Law!    wot  do  they  understand? 

I  've  a  neater,  sweeter  maiden  in  a  cleaner,  greener 
land! 

On  the  road  to  Mandalay  .  .  . 

Ship  me  somewheres  east  of  Suez,  where  the  best  is  like  the 

worst, 
Where  there  are  n't  no  Ten  Commandments  an'  a  man  can 

raise  a  thirst; 
For  the  temple-bells  are  calhn',  an'  it 's  there  that  I  would 

be  — 
By  the  old  Moulmein  Pagoda,  looking  lazy  at  the  sea ; 
On  the  road  to  JNlandalay, 
Where  the  old  Flotilla  lay. 
With  our  sick  beneath  the  awnings  when  we  went  to 

Mandalay ! 
O  the  road  to  Mandalay, 
Where  the  flyin'-fishes  play. 

An'  the  dawn  comes  up  like  thunder  outer  China  'crost 
the  Bay ! 


288  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

TROOPIN' 

(English  Army  in  the  East) 

1  ROOPIN',  troopin',  troopin'  to  the  sea : 
'Ere  's  September  come  again  —  the  six-year  men  are  free. 
O  leave  the  dead  be'ind  us,  for  they  cannot  come  away 
To  where  the  ship  's  a-coalin'  up  that  takes  us  'ome  to-day. 
We  're  goin'  'ome,  we  're  goin'  'ome, 

Our  ship  is  at  the  shore. 
An'  you  must  pack  your  'aversack, 
For  we  won't  come  back  no  more. 
Ho,  don't  you  grieve  for  me, 

My  lovely  Mary-Ann, 
For  I  '11  marry  you  yit  on  a  fourp'ny  bit 
As  a  time-expired  man. 

The  Malabar  's  in  'arbour  with  the  Jumner  at  'er  tail, 
An'  the  time-expired  's  waitin'  of  'is  orders  for  to  sail. 
Ho !  the  weary  waitin'  when  on  Khyber  'ills  we  lay, 
But  the  time-expired  's  waitin'  of  'is  orders  'ome  to-day. 

They  '11  turn  us  out  at  Portsmouth  wharf  in  cold  an'  wet  an' 

rain, 
All  wearin'  Injian  cotton  kit,  but  we  will  not  complain; 
They  '11  kill  us  of  pneumonia  —  for  that 's  their  little  way  — 
But  damn  the  chills  and  fever,  men,  we  're  goin'  'ome  to-day ! 

Troopin',  troopin',  winter  's  round  again ! 
See  the  new  draf's  pourin'  in  for  the  old  campaign ; 
Ho,  you  poor  recruities,  but  you  've  got  to  earn  your  pay  — 
What's   the  last  from   Lunnon,   lads.?     We're  goin'   there 
to-day. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  289 

Troopin',  troopin',  give  another  cheer  — 
'Ere  's  to  English  women  an'  a  quart  of  English  beer. 
The  Colonel  an'  the  regiment  an'  all  who  've  got  to  stay, 
Gawd's   mercy   strike   'em    gentle  —     Whoop !     we  're   goin' 
'ome  to-day. 

We  're  goin'  'ome,  we  're  goin'  'ome, 

Our  ship  is  at  the  shore. 
An'  you  must  pack  your  'avcrsack. 
For  we  won't  come  back  no  more. 
Ho,  don't  you  grieve  for  me, 

My  lovely  Mary- Ann, 
For  I  '11  marry  you  yit  on  a  fourp'ny  bit 
As  a  time-expired  man. 


THE    WIDOW'S  PARTY 

W  HERE  have  you  been  this  while  away, 
Johnnie,  Johnnie?  " 
Out  with  the  rest  on  a  picnic  lay. 

Johnnie,  my  Johnnie,  aha! 
They  called  us  out  of  the  barrack-yard 
To  Gawd  knows  where  from  Gosport  Hard, 
And  you  can't  refuse  when  you  get  the  card. 

And  the  Widow  gives  the  party. 
(Bugle:  Ta — rara — ra-ra-rara  !) 

"  What  did  you  get  to  eat  and  drink, 

Johnnie,  Johnnie.'^  " 
Standing  water  as  tliick  as  ink, 

Johnnie,  my  Johnnie,  aha ! 
A  bit  o'  beef  that  were  three  year  stored, 
A  bit  o'  mutton  as  tough  as  a  board, 
And  a  fowl  we  killed  with  a  sergeant's  sword. 

When  the  Widow  give  the  party. 
19 


290  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

"  What  did  you  do  for  knives  and  forks, 

Johnnie,  Johnnie?  " 
We  carries  'em  with  us  wherever  we  walks, 

Johnnie,  my  Johnnie,  aha! 
And  some  was  shced  and  some  was  halved. 
And  some  was  crimped  and  some  was  carved, 
And  some  was  gutted  and  some  was  starved. 

When  the  Widow  give  the  party. 

"  What  ha'  you  done  with  half  your  mess, 

Johnnie,  Johnnie?  " 
They  could  n't  do  more  and  they  would  n't  do  less, 

Johnnie,  my  Johnnie,  aha ! 
They  ate  their  whack  and  they  drank  their  fill. 
And  I  think  the  rations  has  made  them  ill, 
For  half  my  comp'ny  's  lying  still 

Where  the  Widow  give  the  party. 

"  How  did  you  get  away  —  away, 

Johnnie,  Johnnie?  " 
On  the  broad  o'  my  back  at  the  end  o'  the  day, 

Johnnie,  my  Johnnie,  aha ! 
I  comed  away  like  a  bleedin'  toff. 
For  I  got  four  niggers  to  carry  me  off. 
As  I  lay  in  the  bight  of  a  canvas  trough, 

When  the  Widow  give  the  party. 

"  What  was  the  end  of  all  the  show, 

Johnnie,  Johnnie?  " 
Ask  my  Colonel,  for  I  don't  know, 

Johnnie,  my  Johnnie,  aha ! 
We  broke  a  King  and  we  built  a  road  — 
A  court-house  stands  where  the  reg'ment  gocd. 
And  the  river  's  clean  where  the  raw  blood  flowed 

When  the  Widow  give  the  party. 
{Bugle:  Ta — rara — ra-ra-rara!) 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  291 


FORD  O'   KABUL  RIVER 

V^ABUL  town  's  by  Kabul  river  — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword  — 
There  I  lef  my  mate  for  ever, 
Wet  an'  drippin'  by  the  ford. 
Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river. 

Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark ! 
There  's  the  river  up  and  brimmin',  an'  there  's  'arf  a 
squadron  swimmin' 
'Cross  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark. 

Kabul  town  's  a  blasted  place  — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword  — 
'Strewth  I  sha'n't  forget  'is  face 
Wet  an'  drippin'  by  the  ford ! 
Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river. 

Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark ! 
Keep  the  crossing-stakes  beside  you,  an'  they  will  surely 
guide  you 
'Cross  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark. 

Kabul  town  is  sun  and  dust  — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword  — 
I  'd  ha'  sooner  drownded  fust 
'Stead  of  'im  beside  the  ford. 
Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river. 

Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark! 
You  can  'ear  the  'orses  threshin',  you  can  'ear  the  men 
a-splashin', 
'Cross  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark. 

Kabul  town  was  ours  to  take  — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword  — 
I  'd  ha'  left  it  for  'is  sake  — 

'Im  that  left  me  by  the  ford. 


292  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river, 

Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark! 
It 's  none  so  bloomin'  dry  there ;   ain't  you  never  comin' 
nigh  there, 

'Cross  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark? 

Kabul  town  '11  go  to  hell  — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword  — 
'Fore  I  see  him  'live  an'  well  — 
'Im  the  best  beside  the  ford. 

Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river. 

Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark ! 
Gawd  'elp  'em  if  they  blunder,  for  their  boots  '11  pull  'em 
under, 
By  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark. 

Turn  your  'orse  from  Kabul  town  — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword  — 
'Im  an'  'arf  my  troop  is  down, 
Down  and  drownded  by  the  ford. 
Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river. 

Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark! 
There  's  the  river  low  an'  fallin',  but  it  ain't  no  use  o' 
callin' 
'Cross  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark. 


GENTLEMEN-RANKERS 

1  O  the  legion  of  the  lost  ones,  to  the  cohort  of  the  damned, 

To  my  brethren  in  their  sorrow  overseas. 
Sings    a    gentleman    of    England    cleanly    bred,    machinely 
crammed. 
And  a  trooper  of  the  Empress,  if  you  please. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  293 

Yea,  a  trooper  of  the  forces  who  has  run  his  own  six  horses, 

And  faith  he  went  the  pace  and  went  it  bh'nd, 
And  the  world  was  more  than  kin  while  he  held  the  ready  tin, 
But  to-day  the  Sergeant's  something  less  than  kind. 
We  're  poor  little  lambs  who  've  lost  our  way, 

Baa!    Baa!    Baa! 
We  're  little  black  sheep  who  've  gone  astray. 

Baa  —  aa  —  aa  ! 
Gentlemen-rankers  out  on  the  spree, 
Damned  from  here  to  Eternity, 
God  ha'  mercy  on  such  as  we. 
Baa!    Yah!    Bah! 

Oh,  it 's  sweet  to  sweat  through  stables,  sweet  to  empty  kitchen 
slops, 

And  it 's  sweet  to  hear  the  tales  the  troopers  tell, 
To  dance  with  blowzy  housemaids  at  the  regimental  hops 

And  thrash  the  cad  who  says  you  waltz  too  well. 
Yes,  it  makes  you  cock-a-hoop  to  be  "  Rider  "  to  your  troop, 

And  branded  with  a  blasted  worsted  spur. 
When  you  envy,  O  how  keenly,  one  poor  Tommy  being  cleanly 

Who  blacks  your  boots  and  sometimes  calls  you  "  Sir." 

If  the  home  we  never  write  to,  and  the  oaths  we  never  keep. 

And  all  we  know  most  distant  and  most  dear. 
Across  the  snoring  barrack-room  return  to  break  our  sleep. 

Can  you  blame  us  if  we  soak  ourselves  in  beer? 
When  the  drunken  comrade  mutters  and  the  great  guard- 
lantern  gutters 

And  the  horror  of  our  fall  is  written  plain, 
Every  secret,  self-revealing  on  the  aching  whitewashed  ceiling. 

Do  you  wonder  that  we  drug  ourselves  from  pain.'^ 

We  have  done  with  Hope  and  Honour,  we  are  lost  to  Love  and 
Truth, 

We  are  dropping  down  the  ladder  rung  by  rung. 
And  the  measure  of  our  torment  is  the  measure  of  our  youth. 

God  help  us,  for  we  knew  the  worst  too  young ! 


294  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Our  shame  is  clean  repentance  for  the  crime  that  brought  the 
sentence, 
Our  pride  it  is  to  know  no  spur  of  pride, 
And  the  Curse  of  Reuben  holds  us  till  an  alien  turf  enfolds  us 
And  we  die,  and  none  can  tell  Them  where  we  died. 
We  're  poor  little  lambs  who  've  lost  our  way, 

Baa !    Baa !   Baa ! 
We  're  little  black  sheep  who  've  gone  astray, 

Baa  —  aa  —  aa ! 
Gentlemen-rankers  out  on  the  spree, 
Damned  from  here  to  Eternity, 
God  ha'  mercy  on  such  as  we, 
Baa!  Yah!  Bah! 


ROUTE   MARCHIN' 

VV  E  'RE  marchin'  on  relief  over  Injia's  sunny  plains, 
A  little  front  o'  Christmas-time  an'  just  be'ind  the  Rains; 
Ho !    get   away   you   bullock-man,   you  've   'card   the   bugle 

blowed, 
There  's  a  regiment  a-comin'  down  the  Grand  Trunk  Road ; 

With  its  best  foot  first 

And  the  road  a-sHding  past. 

An'  every  blooming  campin'-ground  exactly  like  the 
last; 

While  the  Big  Drum  says, 

With  'is  "  rowdy-dowdy-dow !  "  — 

"  Kiko  kissywarsti  don't  you  hamsher  argy  jow?  "  ^ 

Oh,  there  's  them  Injian  temples  to  admire  when  you  see, 
There  's  the  peacock  round  the  corner  an'  the  monkey  up  the 

tree, 
An'  there  's  that  rummy  silver-grass  a-wavin'  in  the  wind, 
An'  the  old  Grand  Trunk  a-trailin'  like  a  rifle-sling  be'ind. 
While  it's  best  foot  first,   .   .   . 

1   Why  don't  you  get  on  ? 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  295 

At  half-past  five  's  Revelly,  an'  our  tents  they  down  must 

come, 
Like  a  lot  of  button  mushrooms  when  you  pick  'em  up  at 

'ome. 
But  it 's  over  in  a  minute,  an'  at  six  the  column  starts. 
While  the  women  and  the  kiddies  sit  an'  shiver  in  the  carts. 
An'  it 's  best  foot  first,  .  .  . 

Oh,  then  it 's  open  order,  an'  we  lights  our  pipes  an'  sings, 

An'  we  talks  about  our  rations  an'  a  lot  of  other  things. 

An'  we  thinks  o'  friends  in  England,  an'  we  wonders  what 

they  're  at. 
An'  'ow  they  would  admire  for  to  hear  us  sling  the  bat} 
An'  it 's  best  foot  first,  .  .  . 

It 's   none   so   bad   o'    Sunday,   when   you  're   lyin'   at   your 

ease. 
To    watch    the   kites    a-wheelin'    round    them    feather-'eaded 

trees. 
For  although  there  ain't  no  women,  yet  there  ain't  no  barrick- 

yards. 
So  the  orficers  goes  shootin'  an'  the  men  they  plays  at  cards. 
Till  it 's  best  foot  first,  .  .  . 

So  'ark  an'  'eed,  you  rookies,  which  is  always  grumblin'  sore. 
There  's  worser  things  than  marchin'  from  Umballa  to  C awn- 
pore; 
An'  if  your  'eels  are  blistered  an'  they  feels  to  'urt  like  'ell. 
You  drop  some  tallow  in  your  socks  an'  that  will  make  'em 
well. 
For  it 's  best  foot  first,  .  .  . 

We're  marchin'  on  relief  over  In j la's  coral  strand, 

Eight  'undred  fightin'  Englishmen,  the  Colonel,  and  the  Band ; 

^  Language.  Thomas's  first  and  firmest  conviction  is  that  he  is  a  profound 
Orientahst  and  a  fluent  speaker  of  Hindustani.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  de- 
pends largely  on  the  sign-language. 


296  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Ho !     get   away   you   bullock-man,   you  've   'eard   the  bugle 

blowed, 
There  's  a  regiment  a-comin'  down  the  Grand  Trunk  Road ; 

With  its  best  foot  first 

And  the  road  a-sliding  past, 

An'  every  bloomin'   campin'-ground  exactly  like  the 
last; 

While  the  Big  Drum  says. 

With  'is  "  rowdy-dowdy-dow !  " — 

'^  Kiko  hissywarsti  don't  you  hamsher  argy  jow?  " 


SHILLIN'  A  DAY 

iVl  Y  name  is  O'Kelly ,  I  've  heard  the  Revelly 

From  Birr  to  Bareilly,  from  Leeds  to  Lahore, 

Hong-Kong  and  Peshawur, 

Lucknow  and  Etawah, 

And  fifty-five  more  all  endin'  in  "  pore." 

Black  Death  and  his  quickness,  the  depth  and  the  thickness, 

Of  sorrow  and  sickness  I  've  known  on  my  way. 

But  I  'm  old  and  I  'm  nervis, 

I  'm  cast  from  the  Service, 

And  all  I  deserve  is  a  sliillin'  a  day. 

{Chorus)    Shillin'  a  day, 

Bloomin'  good  pay  — 

Lucky  to  touch  it,  a  shillin'  a  day! 

Oh,  it  drives  me  half  crazy  to  think  of  the  days  I 

Went  slap  for  the  Ghazi,  my  sword  at  my  side. 

When  we  rode  Hcll-for-lcather 

Both  squadrons  together, 

That  did  n't  care  whether  we  lived  or  we  died. 

But  it 's  no  use  dcspairin',  my  wife  must  go  charin' 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  297 

An'  mc  commissairin'  the  pay-bills  to  better, 

So  if  me  you  be'old 

In  the  wet  and  the  cold, 

By  the  Grand  Metropold  won't  you  give  me  a  letter? 

(Full  chorus)  Give  'im  a  letter  — 
'Can't  do  no  better, 
Late  Troop-Sergeant-Major  an'  —  runs  witli 

a  letter! 
Think  what  'e  's  been, 
Think  what  'e  's  seen. 
Think  of  his  pension  an' 

Gawd    save    the    Queen  ! 


BARRACK   ROOM    BALLADS 

II 

GENERAL 

1892-1896 


When  [Omer  smote  ^is  hloomin^  lyre. 

He  *d  'eard  men  sing  by  land  an^  sea; 
An*  what  he  thought  *e  might  require, 
*E  went  an*  took  —  the  same  as  me! 

The  market-girls  an^  fishermen, 
The  shepherds  an*  the  sailors,  too, 

They  *eard  old  songs  turn  up  again. 
But  kep*  it  quiet  —  same  as  you! 

They  knew  V  stole;   *e  knew  they  knowed. 

They  didn*t  tell,  nor  make  a  fuss. 
But  winked  at  *Omer  down  the  road. 
An*  *e  winked  hack —  the  same  as  us! 


"BACK  TO   THE    ARMY  AGAIN" 


1  'M  'ere  in  a  ticky  ulster  an'  a  broken  billycock  'at, 
A-layin'  on  to  the  sergeant  I  don't  know  a  gun  from  a  bat ; 
My  shirt 's  doin'  duty  for  jacket,  my  sock  's  stickin'  out  o' 

my  boots. 
An'  I  'm  learnin'  the  damned  old  goose-step  along  o'  the  new 

recruits ! 

Back  to  the  Army  again,  sergeant, 

Back  to  the  Army  again. 
Don't  look  so  'ard,  for  I  'ave  n't  no  card, 

I  'm  back  to  the  Army  again ! 

I  done  my  six  years'  service.    'Er  Majesty  sez :  "  Good  day  — 
You  '11  please  to  come  when  you  're  rung  for,  an'  'ere  's  your 

'ole  back-pay ; 
An'  four-pence  a  day  for  baccy  —  an'  bloomin'  gen'rous,  too  ; 
An'  now  you  can  make  your  fortune  —  the  same  as  your 

orf'cers  do." 

Back  to  the  Army  again,  sergeant. 

Back  to  the  Army  again ; 
'Ow  did  I  learn  to  do  right-about  turn.? 

I  'm  back  to  the  Army  again ! 

A  man  o'  four-an'-twenty  that  'as  n't  learned  of  a  trade  — 
Beside  "  Reserve  "  agin'  him  —  'e  'd  better  be  never  made. 
I  tried  my  luck  for  a  quarter,  an'  that  was  enough  for  me, 
An'  I  thought  of  'Er  Majesty's  barricks,  an'  I  thought  I'd 
go  an'  see. 


30£  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Back  to  the  Army  again,  sergeant, 

Back  to  the  Army  again ; 
'T  is  n't  my  fault  if  I  dress  when  I  'alt  — 

I  'm  back  to  the  Army  again ! 

The  sergeant  arst  no  questions,  but  'e  winked  the  other  eye, 
'E  sez  to  me,  "  'Shun !  "  an'  I  shunted,  the  same  as  in  days 

gone  by ; 
For  'e  saw  the  set  o'  my  shoulders,  an'  I  could  n't  'elp  'oldin' 

straight 
When  me  an'  the  other  rookies  come  under  the  barrick  gate. 

Back  to  the  Army  again,  sergeant, 

Back  to  the  Army  again ; 
'Oo  would  ha'  thought  I  could  carry  an'  port? 

I  'm  back  to  the  Army  again ! 

I  took  my  bath,  an'  I  wallered  —  for,  Gawd,  I  needed  it  so ! 

I  smelt  the  smell  o'  the  barricks,  I  'eard  the  bugles  go. 

I  'eard  the  feet  on  the  gravel  —  the  feet  o'  the  men  what 

drill  — 
An'  I  sez  to  my  flutterin'  'eart-strings,  I  sez  to  'em,  "  Peace, 

be  still!" 

Back  to  the  Army  again,  sergeant, 

Back  to  the  Army  again ; 
'Oo  said  I  knew  when  the  troopship  was  due? 

I  'm  back  to  the  Army  again ! 

I  carried  my  slops  to  the  tailor ;   I  sez  to  'im,  "  None  o'  your 

lip! 
You  tight  'em  over  the  shoulders,  an'  loose  'em  over  the  'ip, 
For  the  set  o'  the  tunic  's  'orrid."     An'  'e  sez  to  me,  "  Strike 

me  dead, 
But  I  thought  you  was  used  to  the  business !  "  an'  so  'e  done 

what  I  said. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  803 

Back  to  the  Army  again,  sergeant, 

Back  to  the  Army  again. 
Rather  too  free  with  my  fancies?     Wot  —  me? 

I  'm  back  to  the  Army  again ! 

Next  week  I  '11  'ave  'em  fitted;   I  '11  buy  me  a  swagger-cane; 
They  '11  let  me  free  o'  the  barricks  to  walk  on  the  Hoe  again 
In  the  name  o'  William  Parsons,  that  used  to  be  Edward  Clay, 
An'  —  any  pore  beggar  that  wants  it  can  draw  my  fourpence 
a  day! 

Back  to  the  Army  again,  sergeant. 

Back  to  the  Army  again : 
Out  o'  the  cold  an'  the  rain,  sergeant, 

Out  o'  the  cold  an'  the  rain. 

'Oo  's  there? 
A  man  that 's  too  good  to  be  lost  you, 

A  man  that  is  'andled  an'  made  — 
A  man  that  will  pay  what  'e  cost  you 

In  learnin'  the  others  their  trade  —  parade ! 
You  're  droppin'  the  pick  o'  the  Army 

Because  you  don't  'elp  'em  remain. 
But  drives  'em  to  cheat  to  get  out  o'  the  street 

An'  back  to  the  Army  again ! 


"BIRDS  OF  PREY"   IVIARCH 

(Troops  for  Foreign  Service) 


M 


ARCH!     The  mud  is  cakin'  good  about  our  trousies. 
Front !  —  eyes  front,  an'  watch  the  Colour-casin's  drip. 
Front !     The  faces  of  the  women  in  the  'ouses 

Ain't  the  kind  o'  things  to  take  aboard  the  ship. 


304  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Cheer!    An^  we  *ll  never  march  to  victory. 
Cheer!    An*  we  'II  never  live  to  'ear  the  cannon  roar! 
^  The  Large  Birds  o'  Prey 

They  will  carry  us  away. 
An'  you  'II  never  see  your  soldiers  any  more! 

Wheel !     Oh,  keep  your  touch ;   we  're  goin'  round  a  corner. 

Time !  —  mark  time,  an'  let  the  men  be'ind  us  close. 
Lord !    The  transport  's  full,  an'  'alf  our  lot  not  on  'er  — 

Cheer,  O  cheer !     We  're  going  off  where  no  one  knows. 

March !     The  Devil 's  none  so  black  as  'e  is  painted ! 

Cheer !     We  '11  'ave  some  fun  before  we  're  put  away. 
'Alt  an'  'and  'er  out  —  a  woman  's  gone  and  fainted ! 

Cheer !     Get  on !  —  Gawd  'elp  the  married  men  to-day ! 

Hoi !     Come  up,  you  'ungry  beggars,  to  yer  sorrow. 

('Ear  them  say  they  want  their  tea,  an'  want  it  quick!) 
You  won't  have  no  mind  for  slingers,  not  to-morrow  — 

No ;   you  '11  put  the  'tween-decks  stove  out,  bein'  sick ! 

'Alt !     The  married  kit  'as  all  to  go  before  us ! 

'Course  it 's  blocked  the  bloomin'  gangway  up  again ! 
Cheer,  O  cheer  the  'Orse  Guards  watchin'  tender  o'er  us, 

Keepin'  us  since  eight  this  mornin'  in  the  rain ! 

Stuck  in  'eavy  marchin'-order,  sopped  and  wringin'  — 
Sick,  before  our  time  to  watch  'er  'eave  an'  fall, 

'Ere  's  your  'appy  'ome  at  last,  an'  stop  your  singin'. 
'Alt !     Fall  in  along  the  troop-deck !     Silence  all ! 

Cheer!    For  we  'II  never  live  to  see  no  bloomin'  victory! 
Cheer!    An'  we  'II  never  live  to  'ear  the  cannon  roar! 
{One  cheer  more!) 

The  jackal  an'  the  kite 

'Ave  an  'ealthy  appetitey 
An*  you'll  never  see  your  soldiers  any  more!    ('Ip!  Urroar!) 

The  eagle  an'  the  crow 

They  are  wait  In'  ever  so. 


RUDYARD     KIPT.ING 


305 


An'  you  11  never  see  your  soldiers  any  morel     {'Ip!   Lrroar.) 

Yes,  the  Large  Birds  o'  Prey 

They  will  carry  us  away. 
An'  you  'II  never  see  your  soldiers  any  more! 


-SOLDIER  AN'  SAILOR  TOO" 

{Royal  Regiment  of  Marines) 

As  I  was  spittin'  into  the  Ditch  aboard  o'  the  Crocodile, 
I  seed  a  man  on  a  man-o'-war  got  up  in  the  Regulars'  style. 
'E  was  scrapin'  the  paint  from  off  of  'er  plates,  an'  I  sez  to 
'im,  "  'Oo  are  you?"  ^ 

Sez  'e,  "I'm  a  Jolly  — 'Er  Majesty's  Jolly  —  soldier  an 

sailor  too ! "  v  i    • 

Now  'is  work  begins  by  Gawd  knows  when,  and  'is  work  is 

never  through; 
'E  is  n't  one  o'  the  reg'lar  Line,  nor  'e  is  n't  one  of  the  crew. 
'E  's  a  kind  of  a  giddy  harumf rodite  —  soldier  an'  sailor  too ! 

An'  after  I  met  'im  all  over  the  world,  a-doin'  all  kinds  of 

things. 
Like  landin'  'isself  with  a  Gathn'  gun  to  talk  to  them   eathen 

kings ;  •  i     v 

'E  sleeps  in  an  'ammick  instead  of  a  cot,  an'  'e  driUs  with  the 

deck  on  a  slew. 
An'  'e  sweats  like  a  Jolly  —  'Er  Majesty's  Jolly  —  soldier 

an'  sailor  too  !  ^ 

For  there  is  n't  a  job  on  the  top  o'  the  earth  the  beggar  don  t 

know,  nor  do  —  ^, 

You  can  leave  'im  at  night  on  a  bald  man's  'ead,  to  paddle   is 

own  canoe  —  .  ,       ., 

'E  's  a  sort  of  a  bloomin'  cosmopolouse  —  soldier  an    sailor 

too. 

20 


306  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

We  've  fought  'em  in  trooper,  we  've  fought  'em  in  dock,  and 

drunk  with  'em  in  betweens. 
When  they  called  us  the  seasick  scull'ry-maids,  an'  we  called 

'em  the  Ass-Marines ; 
But,  when  we  was  down  for  a  double  fatigue,  from  Woolwich 

to  Bernardmyo, 
We   sent   for   the   JolHes  —  'Er   Majesty's   Jollies  —  soldier 

an'  sailor  too ! 
They  think  for  'emselves,  an'  they  steal  for  'emselves,  and 

they  never  ask  what 's  to  do. 
But  they  're  camped  an'  fed  an'  they  're  up  an'  fed  before  our 

bugle  's  blew. 
Ho !   they  ain't  no  limpin'  procrastitutes  —  soldier  an'  sailor 

too. 

You  may  say  we  are  fond  of  an  'arness-cut,  or  'ootin'  in 

barrick-yards, 
Or    startin'    a    Board   School   mutiny    along   o'    the   Onion 

Guards ; 
But  once  in  a  while  we  can  finish  in  style  for  the  ends  of  the 

earth  to  view. 
The  same  as   the   JolHes  —  'Er  Majesty's   Jollies  —  soldier 

an'  sailor  too ! 
They  come  of  our  lot,  they  was  brothers  to  us ;    they  was 

beggars  we  'd  met  an'  knew ; 
Yes,  barrin'  an  inch  in  the  chest  an'  the  arm,  they  was  doubles 

o'  me  an'  you ; 
For  they  were  n't  no  special  chrysanthemums  —  soldier  an' 

sailor  too ! 

To  take  your  chance  in  the  thick  of  a  rush,  with  firing  all  about, 

Is  nothing  so  bad  when  you  've  cover  to  'and,  an'  leave  an' 
likin'  to  shout ; 

But  to  stand  an'  be  still  to  the  Birkenhead  drill  is  a  damn 
tough  bullet  to  chew, 

An'  they  done  it,  the  Jollies  —  'Er  Majesty's  JolHes  —  sol- 
dier an'  sailor  too! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  307 

Their  work  was  done  when  it  'ad  n't  begun  ;   they  was  younger 

nor  me  an'  you ; 
Their  choice  it  was  plain  between  drownin'  in  'caps  an'  bein' 

mopped  by  the  screw, 
So  they  stood  an'  was  still  to  the  Birken'ead  drill,  soldier  an' 

sailor  too ! 

We  're  most  of  us  liars,  we  're  'arf  of  us  thieves,  an'  the  rest 

are  as  rank  as  can  be, 
But  once  in  a  while  we  can  finish  in  style  (which  I  'ope  it  won't 

'appen  to  me). 
But  it  makes  you  think  better  o'  you  an'  your  friends,  an'  the 

work  you  may  'ave  to  do. 
When  you  think  o'  the  sinkin'  Victorier's  Jollies  —  soldier  an' 

sailor  too ! 
Now  there  is  n't  no  room  for  to  say  ye  don't  know  —  they 

'ave  proved  it  plain  and  true  — 
That  whether  it 's  Widow,  or  whether  it 's  ship,  Victorier's 

work  is  to  do. 
An'  they  done  it,  the  Jolhes  —  'Er  Majesty's  Jolhes  —  sol- 
dier an'  sailor  too! 


SAPPERS 

{Royal  Engineers) 


VV  HEN  the  Waters  were  dried  an'  the  Earth  did  appear, 

("It's  all  one,"  says  the  Sapper), 
The  Lord  He  created  the  Engineer, 

Her  Majesty's  Royal  Engineer, 

With  the  rank  and  pay  of  a  Sapper! 

When  the  Flood  come  along  for  an  extra  monsoon, 
'T  was  Noah  constructed  the  first  pontoon 
To  the  plans  of  Her  Majesty's,  etc. 


308  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

But  after  fatigue  in  the  wet  an'  the  sun, 
Old  Noah  got  drunk,  which  he  would  n't  ha'  done 
If  he  'd  trained  with,  etc. 

When  the  Tower  o'  Babel  had  mixed  up  men's  bat,^ 
Some  clever  civilian  was  managing  that, 
An'  none  of,  etc. 

When  the  Jews  had  a  fight  at  the  foot  of  a  hill, 
Young  Joshua  ordered  the  sun  to  stand  still. 
For  he  was  a  Captain  of  Engineers,  etc. 

When  the  Children  of  Israel  made  bricks  without  straw. 
They  were  learnin'  the  regular  work  of  our  Corps, 
The  work  of,  etc. 

For  ever  since  then,  if  a  war  they  would  wage. 
Behold  us  a-shinin'  on  history's  page  — 
First  page  for,  etc. 

We  lay  down  their  sidings  an'  help  'em  entrain, 
An'  we  sweep  up  their  mess  through  the  bloomin'  campaign, 
In  the  style  of,  etc. 

They  send  us  in  front  with  a  fuse  an'  a  mine 
To  blow  up  the  gates  that  are  rushed  by  the  Line, 
But  bent  by,  etc. 

They  send  us  behind  with  a  pick  an'  a  spade. 
To  dig  for  the  guns  of  a  bullock-brigade 
Which  has  asked  for,  etc. 

We  work  under  escort  in  trousers  and  shirt, 
An'  the  heathen  they  plug  us  tail-up  in  the  dirt. 
Annoying,  etc. 

1  Talk. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  309 

We  blast  out  the  rock  an'  we  shovel  the  mud, 
We  make  'em  good  roads  an'  —  they  roll  down  the  khud,^ 
Reporting,  etc. 

We  make  'em  their  bridges,  their  wells,  an'  their  huts, 
An'  the  telegraph-wire  the  enemy  cuts, 
An'  it 's  blamed  on,  etc. 

An'  when  we  return,  an'  from  war  we  would  cease. 
They  grudge  us  adornin'  the  billets  of  peace, 
Which  are  kept  for,  etc. 

We  build  'em  nice  barracks  —  they  swear  they  are  bad. 
That  our  Colonels  are  Methodist,  married  or  mad, 
Insultin',  etc. 

They  have  n't  no  manners  nor  gratitude  too. 
For  the  more  that  we  help  'em,  the  less  will  they  do. 
But  mock  at,  etc. 

Now  the  Line  's  but  a  man  with  a  gun  in  his  hand, 
An'  Cavalry  's  only  what  horses  can  stand. 
When  helped  by,  etc. 

Artillery  moves  by  the  leave  o'  the  ground. 
But  we  are  the  men  that  do  something  all  round. 
For  we  are,  etc. 

I  have  stated  it  plain,  an'  my  argument 's  thus 

("  It 's  all  one,"  says  the  Sapper) 
There  's  only  one  Corps  which  is  perfect  —  that 's  us ; 

An'  they  call  us  Her  Majesty's  Engineers, 

Her  Majesty's  Royal  Engineers, 

With  the  rank  and  pay  of  a  Sapper! 

1  Hillside. 


310  COLLECTED    VERSE     OF 


THAT  DAY 


I 


T  got  beyond  all  orders  an'  it  got  beyond  all  'ope; 
It  got  to  shammin'  wounded  an'  retirin'  from  the  'alt. 
'Ole  companies  was  lookin'  for  the  nearest  road  to  slope; 
It  were  just  a  bloomin'  knock-out  —  an'  our  fault! 

Now  there  airCt  no  chorus  ^ere  to  give. 

Nor  there  ain't  no  band  to  play; 
An'  I  wish  I  was  dead  'fore  I  done  what  I  did. 

Or  seen  what  I  seed  that  day! 

We  was  sick  o'  bein'  punished,  an'  we  let  'em  know  it,  too ; 

An'  a  company-commander  up  an'  'it  us  with  a  sword, 
An'  some  one  shouted  "  'Ook  it !  "  an'  it  come  to  sove-ki-poo, 

An'  we  chucked  our  rifles  from  us  —  O  my  Gawd ! 

There    was   thirty    dead    an'    wounded    on    the    ground    we 

would  n't  keep  — 
No,  there  was  n't  more  than  twenty  when  the  front  begun 

to  go ; 
But,  Christ !   along  the  line  o'  flight  they  cut  us  up  like  sheep, 
An'  that  was  all  we  gained  by  doin'  so ! 

I  'eard  the  knives  be'ind  me,  but  I  dursn't  face  my  man, 
Nor  I  don't  know  where  I  went  to,  'cause  I  did  n't  'alt  to 
see. 

Till  I  'eard  a  beggar  squealin'  out  for  quarter  as  'e  ran, 
An'  I  thought  I  knew  the  voice  an'  —  it  was  me ! 

We  was  'idin'  under  bedsteads  more  than  'arf  a  march  away ; 

We  was  lyin'  up  like  rabbits  all  about  the  country  side; 
An'  the  major  cursed  'is  Maker  'cause  'e  lived  to  sec  that  day. 

An'  the  colonel  broke  'is  sword  acrost,  an'  cried. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  311 

We  was  rotten  'fore  we  started  —  we  was  never  disciplined; 

We  made  it  out  a  favour  if  an  order  was  obeyed ; 
Yes,  every  little  drummer  'ad  'is  rights  an'  wrongs  to  mind, 

So  we  had  to  pay  for  teachin'  —  an'  we  paid ! 

The  papers  'id  it  'andsome,  but  you  know  the  Army  knows ; 

We  was  put  to  groomin'  camels  till  the  regiments  withdrew, 
An'  they  gave  us  each  a  medal  for  subduin'  England's  foes, 

An'  I  'ope  you  like  my  song  —  because  it 's  true ! 

An*  there  ain't  no  chorus  ''ere  to  give. 

Nor  there  ain't  no  hand  to  play; 
But  I  wish  I  was  dead  'fore  I  done  what  I  did. 

Or  seen  what  I  seed  that  day! 


"THE  MEN   THAT  FOUGHT  AT 
MINDEN " 

{In  the  Lodge  of  Instruction) 


T 


HE  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  was  rookies  in  their 
time  — 
So  was  them  that  fought  at  Waterloo! 
All  the  'ole  command,  yuss,  from  Minden  to  Maiwand, 
They  was  once  dam'  sweeps  like  you! 

Then  do  not  be  discouraged,  ^Eaven  is  your  'elper. 

We  'II  learn  you  not  to  forget; 
An'  you  must  n't  swear  an'  curse,  or  you  'II  only  catch  it 
worse. 

For  we  'II  make  you  soldiers  yet! 


312  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  'ad  stocks  beneath  their 
chins, 

Six  inch  'igh  an'  more; 
But  fatigue  it  was  their  pride,  and  they  would  not  be  denied 

To  clean  the  cook-'ouse  floor. 

The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  had  anarchistic  bombs 
Served  to  'em  by  name  of  'and-grenades ; 

But  they  got  it  in  the  eye  (same  as  you  will  by  an'  by) 
When  they  clubbed  their  field-parades. 

The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  'ad  buttons  up  an' 
down, 

Two-an'-twenty  dozen  of  'em  told ; 
But  they  did  n't  grouse  an'  shirk  at  an  hour's  extry  work, 

They  kept  'em  bright  as  gold. 

The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  was  armed  with  mus- 
ketoons. 
Also,  they  was  drilled  by  'alberdiers; 
I  don't  know  what  they  were,  but  the  sergeants  took  good 
care 
They  washed  be'ind  their  ears. 

The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  'ad  ever  cash  in  'and 

Which  they  did  not  bank  nor  save. 
But  spent  it  gay  an'  free  on  their  betters  —  such  as  me  — 

For  the  good  advice  I  gave. 

The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  was  civil  —  yuss,  they 
was  — 

Never  did  n't  talk  o'  rights  an'  wrongs. 
But  they  got  it  with  the  toe  (same  as  you  will  get  it  —  so  !)  — 

For  interrupting  songs. 

The  men  that  fought  at  Minden,  they  was  several  other  things 

Which  I  don't  remember  clear ; 
But  that  '5  the  reason  why,  now  the  six-year  men  are  dry, 

The  rooks  will  stand  the  beer! 


RUDYARU     KIPLING  313 

Then  do  not  he  discouraged^  ^Eaven  is  your  "eipery 

We  'II  learn  you  not  to  forget; 
An*  you  must  nt  swear  an'  curse,  or  you  'II  only  catch  it 

worse. 
And  we  'II  make  you  soldiers  yet! 

Soldiers  yet,  if  you  've  got  it  in  you  — 

All  for  the  sake  of  the  Core; 
Soldiers  yet,  if  we  'ave  to  skin  you  — 

Run  an'  get  the  beer,  Johnny  Raw  —  Johnny  Raw! 

Ho!  run  an  get  the  beer,  Johnny  Raw! 


CHOLERA   CAMP 

{Infantry  in  India) 

VV  E  'VE  got  the  cholerer  in  camp  —  it 's  worse  than  forty 

fights ; 
We  're  dyin'  in  the  wilderness  the  same  as  Isrulites ; 
It 's  before  us,  an'  be'ind  us,  an'  we  cannot  get  away. 
An'  the  doctor's  just  reported  we've  ten  more  to-day! 

Oh,  strike  your  camp  an^  go,  the  bugle  's  callin'. 

The  Rains  are  fallin  — 
The  dead  are  bushed  an'  stoned  to  keep  'em  safe  below; 
The  Band  's  a-doin'  all  she  knows  to  cheer  us; 
The  chaplain  's  gone  and  prayed  to  Gawd  to  'ear  us  — 

To  'ear  us  — 
0  Lord,  for  it  's  a-killin'  of  us  so! 

Since  August,  when  it  started,  it 's  been  stickin'  to  our  tail, 
Though  they  've  'ad  us  out  by  marches  an'  they  've  'ad  us 

back  by  rail; 
But  it  runs  as  fast  as  troop-trains,  and  we  can  not  get  away ; 
An'  the  sick-list  to  the  Colonel  makes  ten  more  to-day. 


314  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

There  ain't  no  fun  in  women  nor  there  ain't  no  bite  to  drink ; 
It 's  much  too  wet  for  shootin' ;  we  can  only  march  and  think ; 
An'  at  evenin',  down  the  nullahs,  we  can  'ear  the  jackals  say, 
"  Get  up,  3^ou  rotten  beggars,  you  've  ten  more  to-day !  " 

'T  would   make   a   monkey   cough   to   see   our   way   o'   doin' 

things  — 
Lieutenants  takin'  companies  an'  captains  takin'  wings, 
An'  Lances  actin'  Sergeants  —  eight  file  to  obey  — 
For  we  've  lots  o'  quick  promotion  on  ten  deaths  a  day ! 

Our  Colonel 's  white  an'  twitterly  —  'e  gets  no  sleep  nor  food. 
But  mucks  about  in  'orspital  where  nothing  does  no  good. 
'E  sends  us  'caps  o'  comforts,  all  bought  from  'is  pay  — 
But  there  are  n't  much  comfort  'andy  on  ten  deaths  a  day. 

Our  Chaplain  's  got  a  banjo,  an'  a  skinny  mule  'e  rides. 
An'  the  stuff  'e  says  an'  sings  us.  Lord,  it  makes  us  split  our 

sides ! 
With  'is  black  coat-tails  a-bobbin'  to  Ta-ra-ra  Boom-der-ay ! 
'E  's  the  proper  kind  o'  padre  for  ten  deaths  a  day. 

An'  Father  Victor  'elps  'im  with  our  Roman  Catholicks  — 
He  knows  an  'eap  of  Irish  songs  an'  rummy  conjurin'  tricks; 
An'  the  two  they  works  together  when  it  comes  to  play  or 

pray. 
So  we  keep  the  ball  a-rollin'  on  ten  deaths  a  day. 

We  've  got  the  cholerer  in  camp  —  we  've  got  it  'ot  an'  sweet ; 
It  ain't  no  Christmas  dinner,  but  it 's  'elped  an'  we  must  eat. 
We  've  gone  beyond  the  funkin',  'cause  we  've  found  it  does  n't 

pay. 
An'  we  're  rockin'  round  the  Districk  on  ten  deaths  a  day ! 

Then  strike  your  camp  an*  go,  the  Rains  are  fallm\ 

The  Bugle  's  callin*! 
The  dead  are  hushed  an*  stoned  to  keep  *em  safe  below! 
An*  them  that  do  not  like  it  they  can  lump  it. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  I)     KIPLING 


315 


An'  them  that  can  not  stand  it  they  can  jump  it;  ^ 
We've  got  to  die  somewhere -- some  way  —  some  ow — 
We  might  as  well  begin  to  do  it  now! 
Then.  Number  One,  let  down  the  tent-pole  slow. 
Knock  out  the  pegs  an'  'old  the  corners  — so! 
Fold  in  the  pes,  furl  up  the  ropes,  an'  stow 
Oh,  strike  —  oh,  strike  your  camp  an   go! 
{Gazed  'elp  us!) 


THE   LADIES 

I  'VE  taken  my  fun  where  I  've  found  it ; 

I  've  rogued  an'  I  've  ranged  in  my  tmie ; 
I  've  'ad  my  pickin'  o'  sweet'earts, 

An'  four  o'  the  lot  was  prime. 
One  was  an  'arf-caste  widow, 

One  was  a  woman  at  Prome, 
One  was  the  wife  of  a  jemadar-sais,'- 

An'  one  is  a  girl  at  'ome. 

Now  I  are  n't  no  'and  with  the  ladies. 

For,  takin'  'em  all  along. 
You  never  can  say  till  you  've  tried  'em. 

An'  then  you  are  like  to  be  wrong.  .   ,  ^    ,. 

There  's  times  when  you'll  think  that  you  might  n  t. 

There  's  times  when  you  'II  know  that  you  might; 
But  the  things  you  will  learn  from  the  Yellow  an  Brown, 

They  'II  'elp  you  a  lot  with  the  White! 

I  was  a  young  un  at  'Oogli, 

Shy  as  a  girl  to  begin ; 
Aggie  de  Castrer  she  made  me, 

An'  Aggie  was  clever  as  sin; 

1  Head-groom. 


316  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Older  than  me,  but  my  first  un  — 

More  like  a  mother  she  were  — 
Showed  me  the  way  to  promotion  an'  pay, 

An'  I  learned  about  women  from  'er ! 

Then  I  was  ordered  to  Burma, 

Actin'  in  charge  o'  Bazar, 
An'  I  got  me  a  tiddy  live  'eathen 

Through  buyin'  supplies  off  'er  pa. 
Funny  an'  yellow  an'  faithful  — 

Doll  in  a  teacup  she  were, 
But  we  lived  on  the  square,  like  a  true-married  pair, 

An'  I  learned  about  women  from  'er ! 

Then  we  was  shifted  to  Neemuch 

(Or  I  might  ha'  been  keepin'  'er  now), 
An'  I  took  with  a  shiny  she-devil. 

The  wife  of  a  nigger  at  Mhow ; 
Taught  me  the  gipsy-folks'  holee;  ^ 

Kind  o'  volcano  she  were, 
For  she  knifed  me  one  night  'cause  I  wished  she  was 
white, 

And  I  learned  about  women  from  'er! 

Then  I  come  'ome  in  a  trooper, 

'Long  of  a  kid  o'  sixteen  — 
Girl  from  a  convent  at  Meerut, 

The  straightest  I  ever  'ave  seen. 
Love  at  first  sight  was  'er  trouble, 

She  did  n't  know  what  it  were ; 
An'  I  would  n't  do  such,  'cause  I  liked  'er  too  much. 

But  —  I  learned  about  women  from  'er ! 

I  've  taken  my  fun  where  I  've  found  it. 

An'  now  I  must  pay  for  my  fun. 
For  the  more  you  'ave  known  o'  the  others 

The  less  will  you  settle  to  one; 

^  Slang. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING 


317 


An'  the  end  of  it 's  sittin'  and  thlnkin', 

An'  dreamin'  Hell-fires  to  see; 
So  be  warned  by  my  lot  (which  I  know  you  will  not), 

An'  learn  about  women  from  me ! 

What  did  the  ColoneVs  Lady  think  ? 

Nobody  never  knew. 
Somebody  asked  the  Sergeant's  wife. 

An'  she  told  'em  true! 
When  you  get  to  a  man  in  the  case. 

They  're  like  as  a  row  of  pins  — 
For  the  ColoneVs  Lady  an   Judy  O'Grady 

Are  sisters  under  their  skins! 


BILL   'AWKINS 

"'As  anybody  seen  BiU  'Awkins?" 

"  Now  'ow  in  the  devil  would  I  know  ?  " 

"  'E  's  taken  my  girl  out  walkin', 
An'  I  've  got  to  tell  'im  so  — 

Gawd  —  bless  —  'im ! 
I  've  got  to  tell  'im  so." 

"  D'  yer  know  what  'e  's  like,  Bill  'Awkins?  " 

"  Now  what  in  the  devil  would  I  care?  "  , 

"  'E  's  the  livin',  breathin'  image  of  an  organ-grnider  s 
monkey, 
With  a  pound  of  grease  in  'is  'air  — 

Gawd  —  bless  —  'im! 
An'  a  pound  o'  grease  in  'is  'air." 


318  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

"  An'  s'pose  you  met  Bill  'Awkins, 
Now  what  in  the  devil  'ud  ye  do  ?  " 
"  I  'd  open  'is  cheek  to  'is  chin-strap  buckle, 
An'  bung  up  'is  both  eyes,  too  — 

Gawd  —  bless  —  'ira ! 
An'  bung  up  'is  both  eyes,  too !  " 

*'  Look  'ere,  where  'e  comes.  Bill  'Awkins ! 
Now  what  in  the  devil  will  you  say?  " 
**  It  is  n't  fit  an'  proper  to  be  fightin'  on  a  Sunday, 
So  I  '11  pass  'im  the  time  o'  day  — 

Gawd  —  bless  —  'im ! 
I  '11  pass  'im  the.  time  o'  day !  " 


THE  MOTHER-LODGE 

1  HERE  was  Bundle,  Station  Master, 

An'  Beazeley  of  the  Rail, 
An'  'Ackman,  Commissariat, 

An'  Donkin'  o'  the  Jail; 
An'  Blake,  Conductor-Sargent, 

Our  Master  twice  was  'e. 
With  'im  that  kept  the  Europe-shop, 

Old  Framjee  Eduljee. 

Outside  —  **  Sergeant!     Sir!     Salute!     Salaam!^* 
Inside  —  "  Brothery''  an'  it  does  n't  do  no  'arm. 
We  met  upon  the  Level  an*  we  parted  on  the  Square^ 
An'  I  was  Junior  Deacon  in  my  Mother  Lodge  out  there! 

We  'd  Bola  Nath,  Accountant, 

An'  Saul  the  Aden  Jew, 
An'  Din  Mohammed,  draughtsman 

Of  the  Survey  Office  too ; 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  319 

There  was  Babu  Chuckerbutty, 

An'  Amir  Singh  the  Sikh, 
An'  Castro  from  the  fittin'-sheds, 

The  Roman  Cathohck ! 

We  'ad  n't  good  regaHa, 

An'  our  Lodge  was  old  an'  bare, 
But  we  knew  the  Ancient  Landmarks, 

An'  we  kep'  'em  to  a  hair; 
An'  lookin'  on  it  backwards 

It  often  strikes  me  thus, 
There  ain't  such  things  as  infidels, 

Excep',  per'aps,  it 's  us. 

For  monthly,  after  Labour, 

We  'd  all  sit  down  and  smoke 
(We  durs  n't  give  no  banquits. 

Lest  a  Brother's  caste  were  broke), 
An'  man  on  man  got  talkin' 

Religion  an'  the  rest, 
An'  every  man  comparin' 

Of  the  God  'e  knew  the  best. 

So  man  on  man  got  talkin'. 

An'  not  a  Brother  stirred 
Till  mornin'  waked  the  parrots 

An'  that  dam'  brain-fever-bird; 
We  'd  say  't  was  'ighly  curious. 

An'  we  'd  all  ride  'ome  to  bed. 
With  Mo'ammed,  God,  an'  Shiva 

Changin'  pickets  m  our  'ead. 

Full  oft  on  Guv'ment  service 

This  rovin'  foot  'ath  pressed. 
An'  bore  fraternal  greetin's 

To  the  Lodges  east  an'  west, 


Sm  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Accordin'  as  commanded 

From  Kohat  to  Singapore, 
But  I  wish  that  I  might  see  them 

In  my  Mother  Lodge  once  more ! 

I  wish  that  I  might  see  them, 

My  Brethren  black  an'  brown. 
With  the  trichies  smeUin'  pleasant 

An'  the  hog-darn  ^  passin'  down ; 
An'  the  old  khansamah  ^  snorin' 

On  the  bottle-khana  ^  floor, 
Like  a  Master  in  good  standing 

With  my  Mother  Lodge  once  more. 

Outside  —  "Sergeant!     Sir!     Salute!     Salaam!" 
Inside  —  "Brother/*  an'  it  doesn't  do  no  'arm. 
We  met  upon  the  Level  an'  we  parted  on  the  Square, 
An'  I  was  Junior  Deacon  in  my  Mother  Lodge  out  there! 


"FOLLOW   ME   'OME" 

I  HERE  was  no  one  like  'im,  'Orse  or  Foot, 
Nor  any  o'  the  Guns  I  knew; 
An'  because  it  was  so,  why,  o'  course  'e  went  an'  died, 
Which  is  just  what  the  best  men  do. 

So  it  's  knock  out  your  pipes  an'  follow  me! 
An'  it  's  finish  up  your  swipes  an'  follow  nie! 
Ohy  'ark  to  the  big  drum  callin'. 
Follow  me  —  follow  me  'ome! 

^  Cigar-lighter.  ^  Butler.  ^  Pautry. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  321 

'Is  mare  she  neighs  the  'ole  day  long, 
She  paws  the  'ole  night  through, 
An'  she  won't  take  'er  feed  'cause  o'  waitin'  for  'is  step, 
Wliich  is  just  what  a  beast  would  do. 

'Is  girl  she  goes  with  a  bombardier 
Before  'er  month  is  through; 
An'  the  banns  are  up  in  church,  for  she  's  got  the  beggar 
hooked, 
Which  is  just  what  a  girl  would  do. 

We  fought  'bout  a  dog  —  last  week  it  were  — 
No  more  than  a  round  or  two ; 
But  I  strook  'im  cruel  'ard,  an'  I  wish  I  'ad  n't  now. 
Which  is  just  what  a  man  can't  do. 

'E  was  all  that  I  'ad  in  the  way  of  a  friend, 
An'  I  've  'ad  to  find  one  new ; 
But  I  'd  give  my  pay  an'  stripe  for  to  get  the  beggar  back. 
Which  it 's  just  too  late  to  do. 

So  it  ^s  knock  out  your  pipes  an'  follow  me! 
An'  it  *s  finish  up  your  swipes  an'  follow  me! 
Oh,  'ark  to  the  fifes  a-crawlin' ! 
Follow  me  —  follow  me  'ome! 

Take  'im  away!   'E  's  gone  where  the  best  men  go. 
Take  'im  away!    An'  the  gun-wheels  turnin'  slow. 
Take  'im  away!     There  's  nnore  from  the  place  'e  come. 
Take  'im  away,  with  the  limber  an'  the  drum. 

For  it 's  "  Three  rounds  blank  "  an'  follow  me. 
An'  it 's  "  Thirteen  rank  "  an'  follow  me; 
Oh,  passin'  the  love  o'  women. 

Follow  me  —  follow  me  'ome! 

21 


322  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 


THE   SERGEANT'S  WEDDIN' 

Hj  was  warned  agin  'er  — 

That 's  what  made  'im  look ; 
She  was  warned  agin  'im  — 

That  is  why  she  took. 
'Would  n't  'ear  no  reason, 

'Went  an'  done  it  blind ; 
We  know  all  about  'em, 

They  've  got  all  to  find ! 

Cheer  for  the  Sergeanfs  weddin*  — 
Give  'em  one  cheer  more! 

Grey  guTV-*orses  in  the  lando. 
An'  a  rogue  is  married  to,  etc. 

What 's  the  use  o'  tellin' 

'Arf  the  lot  she  's  been  ? 
'E  's  a  bloomin'  robber, 

An*  'e  keeps  canteen. 
'Ow  did  'e  get  'is  buggy? 

Gawd,  you  need  n't  ask ! 
'Made  'is  forty  gallon 

Out  of  every  cask ! 

Watch  'im,  with  'is  'air  cut, 

Count  us  filin'  by  — 
Won't  the  Colonel  praise  'is 

Pop — u — lar — i — ty ! 
We  'ave  scores  to  settle  — 

Scores  for  more  than  beer ; 
She  's  the  girl  to  pay  'em  — 

That  is  why  we  're  'ere ! 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING 

See  the  chaplain  thinkin'  ? 

See  the  women  smile? 
Twig  the  married  winkin' 

As  they  take  the  aisle? 
Keep  your  side-arms  quiet, 

Dressin'  by  the  Band. 
Ho !    You  'oly  beggars, 

Cough  be'ind  your  'and ! 

Now  it 's  done  an'  over, 

'Ear  the  organ  squeak, 
"  'Voice  that  breathed  o'er  Eden  "  — 

Ain't  she  got  the  cheek ! 
White  an'  laylock  ribbons, 

Think  yourself  so  fine ! 
I  'd  pray  Gawd  to  take  yer 

'Fore  I  made  yer  mine ! 


Escort  to  the  kerridge. 

Wish  'im  luck,  the  brute ! 
Chuck  the  shppers  after  — 

[Pity  't  ain't  a  boot !] 
Bowin'  like  a  lady, 

Blushin'  like  a  lad  — 
'Oo  would  say  to  see  'em 

Both  is  rotten  bad? 

\     Cheer  for  the  Sergeant's  weddm 
\        Give  'em  one  cheer  morel 
\  Grey  gun-orses  in  the  lando, 
\      An'  a  rogue  is  married  to,  etc. 


323 


SM  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

THE  JACKET 

-- {Royal  Horse  Artillery) 

1  HROUGH  the  Plagues  of  Egyp'  we  was  chasin'  Arabi, 

Gettin'  down  an'  shovin'  in  the  sun; 
An'  you  might  'ave  called  us  dirty,  an'  you  might  ha'  called  us 

M      l\  dry, 

An'  you  might  'ave  'eard  us  talkin'  at  the  gun. 
i  But  the  Captain  'ad  'is  jacket,  an'  the  jacket  it  was  new  — 
('Orse  Gunners,  listen  to  my  song!) 
An'  the  wettin'  of  the  j  acket  is  the  proper  thing  to  do, 
Nor  we  did  n't  keep  'im  waiting  very  long. 

One  day  they  gave  us  orders  for  to  shell  a  sand  redoubt, 

Loadin'  down  the  axle-arms  with  case ; 
But  the  Captain  knew  'is  dooty,  an'  he  took  the  crackers  out 

An'  he  put  some  proper  liquor  in  its  place. 
An'  the  Captain  saw  the  shrapnel,  which  is  six-an'-thirty  clear. 

('Orse  Gunners,  listen  to  my  song!) 
"  Will  you  draw  the  weight,"  sez  'e,  "  or  will  you  draw  the 
beer?  " 

An'  we  did  n't  keep  'im  waitin'  very  long. 

I         For  the  Captain,  etc. 

Then  we  trotted  gentle,  not  to  break  the  bloomin'  glass, 

Though  the  Arabites  'ad  all  their  ranges  marked ; 
But  we  durs  n't  'ardly  gallop,  for  the  most  was  bottled  Bass, 

An'  we'd  dreamed  of  it  since  we  was  disembarked: 
So  we  fired  economic  with  the  shells  we  'ad  in  'and, 

('Orse  Gunners,  listen  to  my  song!) 
But  the  beggars  under  cover  'ad  the  impidence  to  stand, 

An'  we  could  n't  keep  'em  waitin'  very  long. 

And  the  Captain,  etc. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  325 

So  we  finished  'arf  the  Hquor   (an'  the  Captain  took  cham- 
pagne), 

An'  the  Arabites  was  shootin'  all  the  while ; 
An'  we  left  our  wounded  'appy  with  the  empties  on  the  plain, 

An'  we  used  the  bloomin'  guns  for  pro-jcctile! 
We  limbered  up  an'  galloped  —  there  were  nothin'  else  to  do  — 

('Orse  Gunners,  listen  to  my  song!) 
An'  the  Battery  came  a-boundin'  like  a  boundin'  kangaroo, 

But  they  did  n't  watch  us  comin'  very  long. 

As  the  Captain,  etc. 

We  was  goin'  most  extended  —  we  was  drivin'  very  fine, 

An'  the  Arabites  were  loosin'  'igh  an'  wide, 
Till   the    Captain    took    the    glacis    with    a    rattlin'    "  right 
incline," 

An'  we  dropped  upon  their  'eads  the  other  side. 
Then  we  give  'em  quarter  —  such  as  'ad  n't  up  and  cut 

('Orse  Gunners,  listen  to  my  song!) 
An'  the  Captain  stood  a  limberful  of  fizzy  —  somethin'  Brutt, 

But  we  did  n't  leave  it  fizzing  very  long. 

For  the  Captain,  etc. 

We  might  ha'  been  court-martialled,  but  it  all  come  out  all 
right 
When  they  signalled  us  to  join  the  main  command. 
There  was   every   round  expended,  there  was   every   gunner 
tight. 
An'  the  Captain  waved  a  corkscrew  in  'is  'and ! 

£ut  the  Captain  'ad  Hs  jacket,  etc. 


326  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 


THE   'EATHEN 

»  X  HE  'eathen  in  'is  blindness  bows  down  to  wood  an'  stone ; 
'E  don't  obey  no  orders  unless  they  is  'is  own ; 
'E  keeps  'is  side-arms  awful:  'e  leaves  'em  all  about, 
An'  then  comes  up  the  Regiment  an'  pokes  the  'eathen  out. 

All  along  o'  dirtiness,  all  along  o'  mesSy 
All  along  o'  doin'  things  rather-more-or-less. 
All  along  of  ahhy-nay,^  kul,^  an""  hazar-ho,^ 
Mind  you  keep  your  rifle  an*  yourself  jus*  so! 

The  young  recruit  is  'aughty  —  'e  draf's  from  Gawd  knows 

where ; 
They  bid  'im  show  'is  stockin's  an'  lay  'is  mattress  square ; 
'E  calls  it  bloomin'  nonsense  —  'e  does  n't  know,  no  more  — 
An'  then  up  comes  'is  Company  an'  kicks  'im  round  the  floor ! 

The  young  recruit  is  'ammered  —  'e  takes  it  very  'ard ; 
'E  'angs  'is  'ead  an'  mutters  —  'e  sulks  about  the  yard ; 
'E  talks  o'  "  cruel  tyrants  "  which  'e  '11  swing  for  by-an'-by, 
An'  the  others  'ears  an'  mocks  'im,  an'  the  boy  goes  orf  to  cry. 

The  young  recruit  is  silly  —  'e  thinks  o'  suicide ; 
'E  's  lost  'is  gutter-devil ;    'e  'as  n't  got  'is  pride ; 
But  day  by  day  they  kicks  'im,  which  'elps  'im  on  a  bit, 
Till  'e  finds  'isself  one  momin'  with  a  full  an'  proper  kit. 

Gettin'  clear  6*  dirtiness,  gettin*  done  with  mess, 
Gettin'  shut  o'  doin*  things  rather-more-or-less; 
Not  so  fond  of  abby-nay,  kul,  nor  hazar-ho. 
Learns  to  keep  *is  rifle  an*  Hsself  jus*  so! 

^  Not  now.  2  To-morrow.  *  Wait  a  hit. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  327 

The  young  recruit  is  'appy  —  'e  throws  a  chest  to  suit ; 
You  sec  'im  grow  mustaches ;  you  'ear  'im  slap  'is  boot ; 
'E  learns  to  drop  the  "  blotidies  "  from  every  word  'e  slings, 
An'  'c  shows  an  'ealthy  brisket  when  'e  strips  for  bars  an' 
rings. 

The  cruel-tyrant-sergeants  they  watch  'im  'arf  a  year ; 
They  watch  'im  with  'is  comrades,  they  watch  'im  with  'is  beer ; 
They  watch  'im  with  the  women  at  the  regimental  dance. 
And    the    cniel-tyrant-sergeants    send    'is    name    along    for 
"  Lance." 

An'  now  'e  's  'arf  o'  nothin',  an'  all  a  private  yet, 
'Is  room  they  up  an'  rags  'im  to  see  what  they  will  get ; 
They  rags  'im  low  an'  cunnin',  each  dirty  trick  they  can, 
But  'e  learns  to  sweat  'is  temper  an'  'e  learns  to  sweat  'is  man. 

An',  last,  a  Colour-Sergeant,  as  such  to  be  obeyed, 
'E  schools  'is  men  at  cricket,  'e  tells  'em  on  parade ; 
They  sees  'em  quick  an'  'andy,  uncommon  set  an'  smart, 
An'  so  'e  talks  to  orficers  which  'ave  the  Core  at  'eart. 

'E  learns  to  do  'is  watchin'  without  it  showin'  plain ; 
'E  learns  to  save  a  dummy,  an'  shove  'im  straight  again ; 
'E  learns  to  check  a  ranker  that 's  buyin'  leave  to  shirk ; 
An'  'e  learns  to  make  men  like  'im  so  they  '11  learn  to  like  their 
work. 

An'  when  it  comes  to  marchin'  he  '11  see  their  socks  are  right, 
An'  when  it  comes  to  action  'e  shows  'em  'ow  to  sight ; 
'E  knows  their  ways  of  thinkin'  and  just  what 's  in  their  mind  ; 
'E  knows  when  they  are  takin'  on  an'  when  they  've  fell  be'ind. 

'E  knows  each  talkin'  corpril  that  leads  a  squad  astray ; 

'E  feels  'is  innards  'eavin',  'is  bowels  givin'  way ; 

'E  sees  the  blue-white  faces  all  tryin'  'ard  to  grin. 

An'  'e  stands  an'  waits  an'  suffers  till  it 's  time  to  cap  'em  in. 


328  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

An'  now  the  hugly  bullets  come  peckin'  through  the  dust, 
An'  no  one  wants  to  face  'em,  but  every  beggar  must ; 
So,  like  a  man  in  irons  which  is  n't  glad  to  go, 
Thej  moves  'em  off  by  companies  uncommon  stiff  an'  slow. 

Of  all  'is  five  years'  schoolin'  they  don't  remember  much 
Excep'  the  not  retreatin',  the  step  an'  keepin'  touch. 
It  looks  like  teachin'  wasted  when  they  duck  an'  spread  an'  'op, 
But  if  'e  'ad  n't  learned  'em  they  'd  be  all  about  the  shop ! 

An'  now  it 's  "  'Oo  goes  backward?  "  an'  now  it 's  "  'Oo  comes 

on?" 
And  now  it 's  "  Get  the  doolies,"  an'  now  the  captain  's  gone ; 
An'  now  it 's  bloody  murder,  but  all  the  while  they  'ear 
'Is  voice,  the  same  as  barrick  drill,  a-shepherdin'  the  rear. 

'E  's  just  as  sick  as  they  are,  'is  'eart  is  like  to  split. 
But  'e  works  'em,  works  'em,  works  'em  till  he  feels  'em  take  the 
/        bit ; 
The  rest  is  'oldin'  steady  till  the  watchful  bugles  play. 
An'  'e  lifts  'em,  lifts  'em,  lifts  'em  through  the  charge  that  wins 
the  day! 

The  ^eathen  m  Hs  blindness  hows  down  to  wood  an'  stone; 
'E  don't  obey  no  orders  unless  they  is  'is  ozvn; 
The  'eathen  in  'is  blindness  must  end  where  'e  began-y 
But  the  backbone  of  the  Army  is  the  non-commissioned  man! 

Keep  away  from  dirtiness  —  keep  away  from  mess. 
Don't  get  vnto  doin'  thi/ngs  rather-more-or-less I 
Let  's  ha'  done  with  abby-nay,  kul,  an'  hazar-lio; 
Mind  you  keep  your  rifle  an'  yourself  jus'  so! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  329 


THE    SHUT-EYE    SENTRY 

OEZ  the  Junior  Orderly  Sergeant 

To  the  Senior  Orderly  Man : 
"  Our  Orderly  Orf 'cer  's  hokee-muty^ 

"  You  'elp  'im  all  you  can. 
"  For  the  wine  was  old  and  the  night  is  cold, 

"  An'  the  best  we  may  go  wrong, 
"  So,  'fore  'e  gits  to  the  sentry-box, 

"  You  pass  the  word  along." 

So  it  was  ''Rounds!  What  Rounds?''  at  two  of  a  frosty  night, 
'E  's  'oldin*  on  by  the  sergeant's  sash,  hut,  sentry,  shut  your 

ArC  it  was  "  Pass!    All 's  well!  "    Oh,  ain't  'e  drippin'  tight! 
'E  'II  need  an  affidavit  pretty  badly  by-an'-by. 

The  moon  was  white  on  the  barricks, 

The  road  was  white  an'  wide. 
An'  the  Orderly  Orf'cer  took  it  all, 

An'  the  ten-foot  ditch  beside. 
An'  the  corporal  pulled  an'  the  sergeant  pushed, 

An'  the  three  they  danced  along, 
But  I  'd  shut  my  eyes  in  the  sentry-box, 

So  I  didn't  see  nothin'  wrong. 

Though  it  was  "  Rounds!    What  Rounds  f  "    0  corporal,  'old 
'vm  up! 
'E  's  usin'  'is  cap  as  it  should  n't  be  used,  but,  sentry,  shut 
your  eye. 
An'  it  was  "  Pass!  All 's  well!  "  Ho,  shun  the  foamin'  cup! 
'£  'II  need,  etc. 

^    Very  drunk. 


330  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

'T  was  after  four  in  the  momin' ; 

We  'ad  to  stop  the  fun, 
An'  we  sent  'im  'ome  on  a  bullock-cart, 

With  'is  belt  an'  stock  undone ; 
But  we  sluiced  'im  down  an'  we  washed  'im  out, 

An'  a  first-class  job  we  made, 
When  we  saved  'im,  smart  as  a  bombardier, 

For  six  o'clock  parade. 

It   'ad   been  "  Rounds!     What   Rounds?  "      Oh,   shove    'im. 
straight  again! 
'E  *s  usin'  'is  sword  for  a  bicycle,  but,  sentry,  shut  your  eye. 
An'  it  was  "  Pass!    All 's  well!  "     'E  's  called  me  *'  Darlin' 
Jane  "  ! 
'£  'II  need,  etc. 

The  drill  was  long  an'  'eavy. 

The  sky  was  'ot  an'  blue. 
An'  'is  eye  was  wild  an'  'is  'air  was  wet, 

But  'is  sergeant  pulled  'im  through. 
Our  men  was  good  old  trusties  — 

They  'd  done  it  on  their  'ead ; 
But  you  ought  to  'ave  'eard  'em  markin'  time 

To  'ide  the  things  'e  said ! 

For  it  was  "  Right  flank  —  wheel!  "  for  "  'Alt,  an'  stand  at 
ease! " 
An'  '*  Left  extend!  "  for  "  Centre  close!  "    0  marker,  shut 
your  eye! 
An'  it  was,  **  'Ere,  sir,  'ere!  before  the  Colonel  sees!  " 
So  he  needed  affidavits  pretty  badly  by-an'-by. 

There  was  two-an'-thirty  sergeants. 

There  was  corp'rals  forty-one, 
There  was  just  nine  'undred  rank  an'  file 

To  swear  to  a  touch  o'  sun. 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  331 

There  was  me  'e  'd  kissed  in  the  sentry-box, 

As  I  'ave  not  told  in  mj  song, 
But  I  took  my  oath,  which  were  Bible  tioith, 

I  'ad  n't  seen  nothin'  wrong. 

There  's  them  that 's  'ot  an'  'aughty. 

There  's  them  that 's  cold  an'  'ard. 
But  there  comes  a  night  when  the  best  gets  tight, 

And  then  turns  out  the  Guard. 
I  've  seen  them  'ide  their  liquor 

In  every  kind  o'  way. 
But  most  depends  on  makin'  friends 

With  Privit  Thomas  A. ! 

When  it  is  "  Rounds!  What  Rounds?  "  'E  '5  hreathin" 
through  'is  nose. 

*E  's  reelin\  rolUn\  roarin*  tight,  but,  sentry,  shut  your  eye. 
An'  it  is  "  Pass!    All  *s  well!  "    An'  that  's  the  way  it  goes: 

We  'II  'elp  'im  for  'is  mother,  an'  'e  'II  'elp  us  by-an'-by! 


"MARY,  PITY  WOMEN!" 

1  OU  call  3^ourself  a  man. 

For  all  you  used  to  swear, 
An'  leave  me,  as  you  can. 

My  certain  shame  to  bear.'' 

I  'ear !     You  do  not  care  — • 
You  done  the  w^orst  you  know. 

I  'ate  you,  grinnin'  there.   .  .  . 
Ah,  Gawd,  I  love  you  so ! 

Nice  while  it  lasted,  an'  now  it  is  over  — 

Tear  out  your  'cart  an'  good-bye  to  your  lover! 

What 's  the  use  o'  grievin',  when  the  mother  that  bore  you 

{Mary,  pity  women!)  knew  it  all  before  you? 


S32  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

It  are  n't  no  false  alarm, 

The  finish  to  your  fun ; 
You  —  you  'ave  brung  the  'arm, 

An'  I  'm  the  ruined  one ; 

An'  now  you  '11  off  an'  run 
With  some  new  fool  in  tow. 

Your 'eart?    You 'ave  n't  none.  .  .  . 
Ah,  Gawd,  I  love  you  so ! 

When  a  man  is  tired  there  is  naught  will  bind  'im; 
All  V  solemn  promised  V  will  shove  be'ind  'im. 
What  's  the  good  o'  prayin'  for  The  Wrath  to  strike  'im 
{Maryy  pity  women!),  when  the  rest  are  like  ^im? 

What  'ope  for  me  or  —  it  ? 

What 's  left  for  us  to  do? 
I  've  walked  with  men  a  bit. 

But  this  —  but  this  is  you. 

So  'elp  me  Christ,  it 's  true ! 
Where  can  I  'ide  or  go? 

You  coward  through  and  through!  .  .  . 
Ah,  Gawd,  I  love  you  so! 

All  the  more  you  give  *em  the  less  are  they  for  givin'  — 
Love  lies  dead,  an*  you  can  not  kiss  *im  livvn\ 
Down  the  road  V  led  you  there  is  no  returnin* 
{Mary,  pity  women!),  but  you  We  late  in  learnin*! 

You  'd  like  to  treat  me  fair  ? 

You  can't,  because  we're  pore? 
We'd  starve?    What  do  I  care! 

We  might,  but  this  is  shore ! 

I  want  the  name  —  no  more  — 
The  name,  an'  lines  to  show, 

An'  not  to  be  an  'ore.   .   .   . 
Ah,  Gawd,  I  love  you  so ! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  333 

What  V  the  good  o'  pleadin\  when  the  mother  that  bore  you 
(Mary,  pity  women!)  knew  it  all  before  you  ? 
Sleep  on  ^is  promises  an*  wake  to  your  sorrow 
(Mary,  pity  women!),  for  we  sail  to-morrow! 


"FOR  TO  ADMIRE 


» 


1  HE  Injian  Ocean  sets  an'  smiles 

So  sof,  so  bright,  so  bloomin'  blue; 
There  are  n't  a  wave  for  miles  an'  miles 

Excep'  the  jiggle  from  the  screw. 
The  ship  is  swep',  the  day  is  done, 

The  bugle  's  gone  for  smoke  and  play ; 
An'  black  ag'in  the  settin'  sun 

The  Lascar  sings,  "  Hum  deckty  hai!  '*  ^ 

For  to  admire  an*  for  to  see. 

For  to  behold  this  world  so  wide  — 

It  never  done  no  good  to  me. 
But  I  can't  drop  it  if  I  tried! 

I  see  the  sergeants  pit  chin'  quoits, 

I  'ear  the  women  laugh  an'  talk, 
I  spy  upon  the  quarter-deck 

The  orficers  an'  lydies  walk. 
I  thinks  about  the  things  that  was, 

An'  leans  an'  looks  acrost  the  sea, 
Till,  spite  of  all  the  crowded  ship. 

There  's  no  one  lef  alive  but  me. 

1    "I'm  looking  out." 


334  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

The  things  that  was  which  I  'ave  seen, 

Li  barrick,  camp,  an'  action  too, 
I  tells  them  over  by  myself. 

An'  sometimes  wonders  if  they  're  true ; 
For  they  was  odd  —  most  awful  odd  — 

But  all  the  same  now  they  are  o'er. 
There  must  be  'eaps  o'  plenty  such. 

An'  if  I  wait  I  '11  see  some  more. 


Oh,  I  'ave  come  upon  the  books. 

An'  frequent  broke  a  barrick  rule. 
An'  stood  beside  an'  watched  myself 

Be'avin'  like  a  bloomin'  fool. 
I  paid  my  price  for  findin'  out, 

Nor  never  grutched  the  price  I  paid. 
But  sat  in  Clink  without  my  boots, 

Admirin'  'ow  the  world  was  made. 


Be'old  a  cloud  upon  the  beam. 

An'  'umped  above  the  sea  appears 
Old  Aden,  like  a  barrick-stove 

That  no  one  's  ht  for  years  an'  years ! 
I  passed  by  that  when  I  began, 

An'  I  go  'ome  the  road  I  came, 
A  time-expired  soldier-man 

With  six  years'  service  to  'is  name. 

My  girl  she  said,  "  Oh,  stay  with  me ! " 

My  mother  'eld  me  to  'er  breast. 
They  've  never  written  none,  an'  so 

They  must  'ave  gone  with  all  the  rest 
With  all  the  rest  which  I  'ave  seen 

An'  found  an'  known  an'  met  along. 
I  cannot  say  the  things  I  feel, 

And  so  I  sing  my  even  in'  song: 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  335 

Tor  to  admire  an'  for  to  see. 

For  to  he' old  this  world  so  wide  — 
It  never  done  no  good  to  me. 

But  I  can't  drop  it  if  I  triedl 


SERVICE   SONGS 

SOUTH  AFRICAN   WAR 
1900-1902 


"  Tommy  "  you  was  when  it  began. 

But  now  that  it  is  o*er 
You  shall  be  called  The  Service  Man 

'Enceforwardy  evermore. 

Batt'ry,  h-igade,  flanJcy  centre,  van. 

Defaulter y  Army  corps  — 
From  first  to  last.  The  Service  Man 

'Encejorwardy  evermore. 

From  'Alifax  to  ^Industan, 
From  York  to  Singapore  — 

^Orse,  footy  an*  gunSy  The  Service  Man 
*  Encejorwardy  evermore! 


CHANT-PAGAN 

{English  Irregular  discharged) 


M: 


E  that  *ave  been  what  I've  been. 
Me  that  'ave  gone  where  I  've  gone, 
Me  that  'ave  seen  what  I  've  seen  — 

'Ow  can  I  ever  take  on 
With  awful  old  England  again. 
An'  'ouses  both  sides  of  the  street. 
And  'edges  two  sides  of  the  lane. 
And  the  parson  an'  "gentry"  between. 
An'  touchin'  my  'at  when  we  meet  — 

Me  that  'ave  been  what  I  've  been  ? 

Me  that  'ave  watched  'arf  a  world 

'Eave  up  all  shiny  with  dew. 

Kopje  on  kop  to  the  sun. 

An'  as  soon  as  the  mist  let  'em  through 

Our  'elios  winkin'  like  fun  — 

Three  sides  of  a  ninety-mile  square. 

Over  valleys  as  big  as  a  shire  — 

Are  ye  there?     Are  ye  there?     Are  ye  there? 

An'  then  the  blind  drum  of  our  fire  .  .  . 

An'  I  'm  roUin'  'is  lawns  for  the  Squire, 

Me! 

Me  that  'ave  rode  through  the  dark 
Forty  mile,  often,  on  end. 
Along  the  Ma'ollisberg  Range, 
With  only  the  stars  for  my  mark 


340  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

An'  only  the  night  for  my  friend, 

An'  things  runnin'  off  as  you  pass. 

An'  things  jumpin'  up  in  the  grass. 

An'  the  silence,  the  shine  an'  the  size 

Of  the  'igh,  unexpressible  skies.  .  .  . 

I  am  takin'  some  letters  almost 

As  much  as  a  mile,  to  the  post. 

An'  "mind  you  come  back  with  the  change  !" 

Me! 
Me  that  saw  Barberton  took 

When  we  dropped  through  the  clouds  on  their  'ead. 
An'  they  'ove  the  guns  over  and  fled  — 
Me  that  was  through  Di'mond  '111, 
An'  Pieters  an'  Springs  an'  Belfast  — 
From  Dundee  to  Vereeniging  all ! 
Me  that  stuck  out  to  the  last 
(An'  five  bloomin'  bars  on  my  chest)  — 
I  am  doin'  my  Sunday-school  best. 
By  the  'elp  of  the  Squire  an'  'is  wife 
(Not  to  mention  the  'ousemaid  an'  cook). 
To  come  in  an'  'ands  up  an'  be  still. 
An'  honestly  work  for  my  bread. 
My  livin'  in  that  state  of  life 
To  which  it  shall  please  God  to  call 

Me! 

Me  that  'ave  followed  my  trade 

In  the  place  where  the  Lightnin's  are  made, 

'Twixt  the  Rains  and  the  Sun  and  the  Moon ; 

Me  that  lay  down  an'  got  up 

Three  years  an'  the  sky  for  my  roof  — 

That  'ave  ridden  my  'unger  an'  thirst 

Six  thousand  raw  mile  on  the  hoof. 

With  the  Vaal  and  the  Orange  for  cup. 

An'  the  Brandwater  Basin  for  dish,  — 

Oh  !  it 's  'ard  to  be'ave  as  they  wish, 

(Too  'ard,  an'  a  little  too  soon), 

I  '11  'ave  to  think  over  it  first  — 

Me! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  341 

I  will  arise  an*  get  'ence;  — 

I  will  trek  South  and  make  sure 

If  it 's  only  my  fancy  or  not 

That  the  sunshine  of  England  is  pale, 

And  the  breezes  of  England  arc  stale. 

An'  there's  somethin'  gone  small  with  the  lot; 

For  /  know  of  a  sun  an'  a  wind. 

An'  some  plains  and  a  mountain  be'ind. 

An'  some  graves  by  a  barb-wire  fence ; 

An'  a  Dutchman  I  've  fought  'oo  might  give 

Me  a  job  were  I  ever  inclined, 

To  look  in  an'  ofFsaddle  an'  live 

Where  there 's  neither  a  road  nor  a  tree  — 

But  only  my  Maker  an'  me. 

And  I  think  it  will  kill  me  or  cure. 

So  I  think  I  will  go  there  an'  see. 

Me! 


M.    I. 

(Mounted  Infantry  of  the  Line) 

1  WISH  my  mother  could  see  me  now,  with  a  fence-post  under 

my  arm, 
And  a  knife  and  a  spoon  in  my  putties  that  I  found  on  a  Boer 

farm, 
Atop  of  a  sore-backed  Argentine,  with  a  thirst  that  you  could  n't 
buy. 
I  used  to  be  in  the  Yorkshires  once 
(Sussex,  Lincolns,  and  Rifles  once), 
Hampshires,  Glosters,  and  Scottish  once  !   (ad  lib.) 
But  now  I  am  M.  I. 

That  is  what  we  are  known  as  —  that  is  the  name  you  must 

call 
If  you  want  officers'  servants,  pickets  an'  'orseguards  an'  all  — 


342  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Details  for  buryin'-parties,  company-cooks  or  supply  — 
Turn  out  the  chronic  Ikonas  !     Roll  up  the ^  M.  I. ! 

My  'ands  are  spotty  with  veldt-sores,  my  shirt  is  a  button  an' 

frill, 
An'  the  things  I've  used  my  bay 'nit  for  would  make  a  tinker 

ill! 
An'  I  don't  know  whose  dam'  column  I  'm  in,  nor  where  we  're 
trekkin'  nor  why. 
I  've  trekked  from  the  Vaal  to  the  Orange  once  — 
From  the  Vaal  to  the  greasy  Pongolo  once  — 
(Or  else  it  was  called  the  Zambesi  once)  — 
For  now  I  am  M.  I. 

That  is  what  we  are  known  as  —  we  are  the  push  you  require 
For  outposts  all  night  under  freezin',  an'  rearguard  all  day  under 

fire. 
Anything  'ot  or  unwholesome  ?     Anything  dusty  or  dry  ? 
Borrow  a  bunch  of  Ikonas  !     Trot  out  the M.  I.  ! 

Our  Sergeant-Major's  a  subaltern,  our  Captain 's  a  Fusilier  — 
Our  Adjutant  's  "late  of  Somebody's  'Orse,"  an'  a  Melbourne 

auctioneer ; 
But  you  could  n't  spot  us  at  'arf  a  mile  from  the  crackest 

caval-ry. 
They  used  to  talk  about  Lancers  once, 
i  Hussars,  Dragoons,  an'  Lancers  once, 
/  'Elmets,  pistols,  an'  carbines  once, 
/  But  now  we  are  M.  I.  ! 

That  is  what  we  are  known  as  —  we  are  the  orphans  they 

blame 
For  beggin'  the  loan  of  an  'ead-stall  an'  makin'  a  mount  to  the 

same: 
'Can't  even  look  at  an  'orselines  but  some  one  goes  bellerin' 

"Hi! 
"'Ere  comes  a  burglin'  Ikona  ! "     Footsack  you M.  1. ! 

1  Number  according  to  taste  and  service  of  audience. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  343 

We're  trekkin'  our  twenty  miles  a  day  an'  bcin'  loved  by  the 

Dutch, 
But  we  don't  hold  on  by  the  mane  no  more,  nor  lose  our  stirrups 

—  much ; 
An'  we  scout  with  a  senior  man  in  charge  where  the  'oly  w^hite 
flags  fly. 
We  used  to  think  they  w^ere  friendly  once, 
Did  n't  take  any  precautions  once 
(Once,  my  ducky,  an'  only  once  !) 

But  now  we  are  M.  I.  ! 

That  is  what  we  are  known  as  —  we  are  the  beggars  that  got 
Three  days  "to  learn  equitation,"  an'  six  months  o'  bloomin' 

well  trot ! 
Cow-guns,  an'  cattle,  an'  convoys  —  an'  Mister  De  W^et  on  the 

fly- 
We  are  the  rollin'  Ikonas  !     W  e  are  the M.  I.  ! 

The  new  fat  regiments  come  from  home,  imaginin'  vain  V.  C.'s 
(The  same  as  our  talky-fighty  men  which  are  often  Number 

Threes  ^), 
But  our  words  o'  command  are  "Scatter"  an'  "Close"  an* 
"Let  your  wounded  lie." 
We  used  to  rescue  'em  noble  once,  — 
Givin'  the  range  as  we  raised  'em  once, 
Gettin'  'em  killed  as  we  saved  'em  once  — 
But  now  we  are  M.  I. 

That  is  what  we  are  known  as  —  we  are  the  lanterns  you  view 
After  a  fight  round  the  kopjes,  lookin'  for  men  that  we  knew; 
Whistlin'  an'  callin'  together,  'altin'  to  catch  the  replv :  — 
"  'Elp  me  !     O  'elp  me,  Ikonas  !     This  way,  the M.  I. ! " 

I  wish  my  mother  could  see  me  now,  a-gatherin'  news  on  my 

own. 
When  I  ride  like  a  General  up  to  the  scrub  and  ride  back  like 

Tod  Sloan, 

^  Horse-holders  when  in  action,  and  therefore  generally  under  cover. 


344  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Remarkable  close  to  my  'orse's  neck  to  let  the  shots  go  by. 
We  used  to  fancy  it  risky  once 
(Called  it  a  reconnaissance  once), 
Under  the  charge  of  an  orf 'cer  once, 

But  now  we  are  M.  I. ! 

That  is  what  we  are  known  as  —  that  is  the  song  you  must  say 
When  you  want  men  to  be  Mausered  at  one  and  a  penny  a  day ; 
We  are  no  five-bob  Colonials  —  we  are  the  'ome  made  supply, 
Ask  for  the  London  Ikonas  !    Ring  up  the M.  I. ! 

I  wish  myself  could  talk  to  myself  as  I  left  'im  a  year  ago ; 

I  could  tell  'im  a  lot  that  would  save  'im  a  lot  on  the  things  that 

'e  ought  to  know  ! 
When  I  think  o'  that  ignorant  barrack-bird,  it  almost  makes 
me  cry. 
I  used  to  belong  in  an  Army  once 
(Gawd  !  what  a  rum  little  Army  once). 
Red  little,  dead  little  Army  once  ! 

But  now  I  am  M.  I. ! 

That  is  what  we  are  known  as  —  we  are  the  men  that  have 

been 
Over  a  year  at  the  business,  smelt  it  an'  felt  it  an'  seen. 
We  'ave  got  'old  of  the  needful  —  you  will  be  told  by  and  by ; 
Wait  till  you  've  'card  the  Ikonas,  spoke  to  the  old  M.  I. ! 

/  Mount  —  march,  Ikonas!     Stand  to  your  *orses  again! 

J   Mop  off  the  frost  on  the  saddles,  mop  up  the  miles  on  the  plain. 

Out  go  the  stars  in  the  daivnin\  up  goes  our  dust  to  the  sky. 

Walk  —  trot,  Ikonas!     Trek  jou}  the  old  M.  I.! 

*  Get  ahead. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  345 

COLUMNS 

(Mobile  Columns  of  the  Later  War) 

v^UT  o'  the  wilderness,  dusty  an'  dry 

(Time,  an*  'igh  time  to  he  trekkin'  again!) 
'Oo  is  it  'eads  to  the  Detail  Supply  ? 

(A  section,  a  pompom,  an^  six  'undred  men. ) 

'Ere  comes  the  clerk  with  'is  lantern  an'  keys 

(Time,  an*  *igh  time  to  be  trekkin'  again!) 
"Surplus  of  everything  —  draw  what  you  please 

^* For  the  section,  the  pompom,  an*  six  *undred  men.** 

"What  are  our  orders  an'  where  do  we  lay ? " 

(Time,  an*  *igh  time  to  he  trekkin*  again!) 
"You  came  after  dark  —  you  will  leave  before  day, 

"  You  section,  you  pojnpom,  you  six  *undrcd  men!** 

Down  the  tin  street,  'alf  awake  an'  unfed, 
'Ark  to  'em  blessin'  the  Gen'ral  in  bed ! 
Now  by  the  church  an'  the  outspan  they  wind  — 
Over  the  ridge  an'  it 's  all  lef '  be'ind 
For  the  section,  etc. 

Soon  they  will  camp  as  the  dawn 's  growin'  grey, 
Roll  up  for  coffee  an'  sleep  while  they  may  — 
The  section,  etc. 

Read  their  'ome  letters,  their  papers  an'  such. 
For  they  '11  move  after  dark  to  astonish  the  Dutch 
With  a  section,  etc. 

'Untin'  for  shade  as  the  long  hours  pass, 
Blankets  on  rifles  or  burrows  in  grass, 
Lies  the  section,  etc. 


346  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Dossin'  or  beatin'  a  shirt  in  the  sun, 
Watching  chameleons  or  cleanin'  a  gun. 
Waits  the  section,  etc. 

With  nothin'  but  stillness  as  far  as  you  please. 
An'  the  silly  mirage  stringin'  islands  an'  seas 
Round  the  section,  etc. 

So  they  strips  off  their  hide  an'  they  grills  in  their  bones, 
Till  the  shadows  crawl  out  from  beneath  the  pore  stones 
Towards  the  section,  etc. 

An'  the  Mauser-bird  stops  an'  the  jackals  begin, 
An'  the  'orse-guard  comes  up  and  the  Gunners  'ook  in 
As  a  'int  to  the  pompom  an'  six  'undred  men.  .  .  . 

Off  through  the  dark  with  the  stars  to  rely  on  — 
(Alpha  Centauri  an'  somethin'  Orion) 
Moves  the  section,  etc 

Same  bloomin'  'ole  which  the  ant-bear  'as  broke, 
Same  bloomin'  stumble  an'  same  bloomin'  joke 
Down  the  section,  etc. 

Same  "which  is  right?"   where  the  cart-tracks  divide, 
Same  "give  it  up  "  from  the  same  clever  guide 
To  the  section,  etc. 

Same  tumble-down  on  the  same  'idden  farm. 
Same  white-eyed  Kaffir  'oo  gives  the  alarm 
0/  the  section,  etc. 

Same  shootin'  wild  at  the  end  o'  the  night. 
Same  fly  in'  tackle  an'  same  messy  fight 
By  the  section,  etc. 

Same  ugly  'iccup  an'  same  'orrid  squeal, 
When  it 's  too  dark  to  see  an'  it 's  too  late  to  feel 
In  the  section,  etc. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING 

(Same  batch  of  prisoners,  'airy  an'  still, 
Watchin'  their  comrades  bolt  over  the  'ill 
From  the  section,  etc.) 

Same  chillv  glare  in  the  eye  of  the  sun 
As  'e  gets  up  displeasured  to  see  what  was  done 
By  the  section^  etc. 

Same  splash  o'  pink  on  the  stoep  or  the  kraal, 
An'  the  same  quiet  face  which  'as  finished  with  all 
In  the  section,  the  fompom,  an'  six  'undred  men. 

Old  o'  the  wilderness,  dusty  an  dry 

{Time,  an'  Hgh  time  to  he  trekkin'  again!) 

'Oo  is  it  'eads  to  the  Detail  Supply? 

(A  section,  a  pompom,  an'  six  'undred  men.) 


34^7 


THE  PARTING   OF  THE   COLUMNS 

On  the  —th  instant  a  mixed  detachment  of  colonials  left 

'-  'for  Cape  Toivn,  there  to  rejoin  their  respective  homeicard- 

boiind  contingents,  after  fifteen  months'  service  in  the  field.     They 
were  escorted  to  the  station  by  the  regular  troops  in  garrison  and 

the  hulk  of  Colonel 's  column,  which  has  just  come  m  to  refi, 

preparatory  to  further  operations.     The  leave-taking  ivas  of  the 
most  cordial  character,  the  men  cheering  each  other  continuomly, 

—  Any  Newspaper,  during  the  South  African  N\ar. 

We  'VE  rode  and  fought  and  ate  and  drunk  as  rations  come 

to  hand,  •  i  •   m     a 

Together  for  a  year  and  more  around  this  stinkin  land : 
Now  you  are  goin'  home  again,  but  we  must  see  it  through. 
We  need  n't  tell  we  Uked  you  weU.     Good-bye  —  good  luck  to 

you ! 


348  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

You  'ad  no  special  call  to  come,  and  so  you  doubled  out, 

And  learned  us  how  to  camp  and  cook  an'  steal  a  horse  and 

scout : 
Whatever  game  we  fancied  most,  you  joyful  played  it  too, 
And  rather  better  on  the  whole.    Good-bye  —  good  luck  to  you  ! 

There  is  n't  much  we  'ave  n't  shared,  since  Kruger  cut  and  run, 
The  same  old  work,  the  same  old  skoff,^  the  same  old  dust  and 

sun; 
The  same  old  chance  that  laid  us  out,  or  winked  an'  let  us 

through ; 
The  same  old  Life,  the  same  old  Death.    Good-bye  —  good  luck 

to  you ! 

Our  blood  'as  truly  mixed  with  yours  —  all  down  the  Red  Cross 

train. 
We've  bit  the  same  thermometer  in  Bloeming-typhoidtein. 
We  've  'ad  the  same  old  temp'rature  —  the  same  relapses  too. 
The  same  old  saw-backed  fever-chart.     Good-bye  —  good  luck 

to  you ! 

But  't  was  n't  merely  this  an'  that  (which  all  the  world  may 

know), 
'T  was  how  you  talked  an'  looked  at  things  which  made  us  like 

you  so. 
All  independent,  queer  an'  odd,  but  most  amazin'  new. 
My  word  !  you  shook  us  up  to  rights.     Good-bye  —  good  luck 

to  you ! 

Think  o'  the  stories  round  the  fire,  the  tales  along  the  trek  — 
O'  Calgaiy  an'  Wellin'ton,  an'  Sydney  and  Quebec; 
Of  mine  an'  farm,  an'  ranch  an'  run,  an'  moose  an'  cariboo. 
An'  parrots  peckin'  lambs  to  death  !    Good-bye  —  good  luck  to 


you! 


1  Food. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  349 

We  Ve  seen  your  'ome  by  word  o'  mouth,  we've  watched  your 

rivers  shine, 
We've  'eard  your  bloomin'  forests  blow  of  eucahp'  and  pine; 
Your  young,  gay  countries  north  an'  south,  we  feel  we  own  'em 

too. 
For  they  was  made  by  rank  an'  file.     Good-bye  —  good  luck  to 

you! 

We'll  never  read  the  papers  now  without  inquirin'  first 

For  word  from  all  those  friendly  dorps  where  you  was  bom  an' 

nursed. 
Why,  Dawson,  Galle,  an'  Montreal  —  Port  Darwin  —  Timaru, 
They  're  only  just  across  the  road  !     Good-bye  —  good  luck  to 

you! 

Good-bye  !  —  So-long  !   Don't  lose  yourselves  —  nor  us,  nor  all 

kind  friends. 
But  tell  the  girls  your  side  the  drift  we  're  comin'  —  when  it  ends  ! 
Good-bye,  you  bloomin'  Atlases  !    You  've  taught  us  somethin' 

new: 
The  world 's  no  bigger  than  a  kraal.    Good-bye  —  good  luck  to 

you! 


TWO  KOPJES 

{Made  Yeomanry  tmcards  the  End  of  the  War) 

vJNLY  two  African  kopjes. 

Only  the  cart-tracks  that  wind 
Empty  and  open  between  'em, 

Only  the  Transvaal  behind ; 
Only  an  Aldershot  column 

Marching  to  conquer  the  land  .  .  . 
Only  a  sudden  and  solemn 

Visit,  unarmed,  to  the  Rand. 


350  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Then  scorn  not  the  African  kopje. 

The  kopje  that  smiles  in  the  heat, 
The  wholly  unoccupied  kopje, 

The  home  of  Cornelius  and  Piet. 
You  can  never  be  sure  of  your  kopje, 

But  of  this  be  you  blooming  well  sure, 
A  kopje  is  always  a  kopje. 

And  a  Boojer  is  always  a  Boer ! 

Only  two  African  kopjes. 

Only  the  vultures  above. 
Only  baboons  —  at  the  bottom. 

Only  some  buck  on  the  move; 
Only  a  Kensington  draper 

Only  pretending  to  scout  .  .   . 
Only  bad  news  for  the  paper. 

Only  another  knock-out. 

Then  mock  not  the  African  kopje. 
And  rub  not  your  flank  on  its  side, 

The  silent  and  simmering  kopje. 
The  kopje  beloved  by  the  guide. 

You  can  never  be,  etc. 

Only  two  African  kopjes. 

Only  the  dust  of  their  wheels. 
Only  a  bolted  commando. 

Only  our  guns  at  their  heels  .  .  . 
Only  a  little  barb-wire. 

Only  a  natural  fort. 
Only  "by  sections  retire," 

Only  "regret  to  report ! " 

Then  mock  not  the  African  kopje. 
Especially  when  it  is  twins, 

One  sharp  and  one  table-topped  kopje. 
For  that 's  where  the  trouble  begins. 

You  never  can  be,  etc. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  351 

Only  two  African  kopjes 

Baited  the  same  as  before  — 
Onlv  we  've  had  it  so  often, 

Only  we  're  taking  no  more  .  .  . 
Only  a  wave  to  our  troopers, 

Only  our  flanks  swinging  past. 
Only  a  dozen  voorloopers. 

Only  we\e  learned  it  at  last ! 

Then  mock  not  the  African  kopje. 

But  take  off  your  hat  to  the  same. 
The  patient,  impartial  old  kopje. 

The  kopje  that  taught  us  the  game  ! 
For  all  that  we  knew  in  the  Columns, 

And  all  they  've  forgot  on  the  Staff, 
We  learned  at  the  Fight  o'  Two  Kopjes, 

Which  lasted  two  years  an'  a  half. 

O  mock  not  the  African  kopje. 

Not  even  when  peace  has  been  signed  — 
The  kopje  that  is  n't  a  kopje  — 

The  kopje  that  copies  its  kind. 
You  can  never  be  sure  of  your  kopje. 

But  of  this  be  you  blooming  well  sure. 
That  a  kopje  is  always  a  kopje, 

And  a  Boojer  is  always  a  Boer ! 


A 


THE  INSTRUCTOR 

{Non-commissioned  Officers  of  the  Line) 


T  times  when  under  cover  I  'ave  said. 
To  keep  my  spirits  up  an'  raise  a  laugh, 
'Earin  'im  pass  so  busy  over-'ead  — 
Old  Nickel-Neck,  'oo  is  n't  on  the  Staff  — 
"  There  *s  one  above  is  greater  than  us  all.'' 


352  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

Before  'im  I  'ave  seen  my  Colonel  fall. 
An*  watched  'im  write  my  Captain's  epitaph, 
So  that  a  long  way  off  it  could  be  read  — 
He  'as  the  knack  o'  makin'  men  feel  small  — 
Old  Whistle  Tip,  'oo  is  n't  on  the  Staff. 

There  is  no  sense  in  fleein'  (I  'ave  fled). 
Better  go  on  an'  do  the  belly-crawl. 
An'  'ope  'e  '11  'it  some  other  man  instead 
Of  you  'e  seems  to  'unt  so  speshual  — 
Fitzy  van  Spitz,  'oo  is  n't  on  the  Staff. 

An'  thus  in  mem'ry's  gratis  biograph. 
Now  that  the  show  is  over,  I  recall 
The  peevish  voice  an'  'oary  mushroom  'ead 
Of  'im  we  owned  was  greater  than  us  all, 
'Oo  give  instruction  to  the  quick  an'  the  dead 
The  Shudderin'  Beggar  —  not  upon  the  Staff ! 


V     BOOTS 

(Infantry  Columns  of  the  Earlier  War) 

WE'RE   foot  —  slog  —  slog  —  slog  —  sloggin'  over  Africa! 
Foot  —  foot  —  foot  —  foot  —  sloggin'  over  Africa  — 
(Boots  —  boots  —  boots  —  boots  —  movin'  up  and  down  again  ! 
There 's  no  discharge  in  the  war  ! 

Seven  —  six  —  eleven  —  five  —  nine-an '-twenty  mile  to-day  — 
Four  —  eleven  —  seventeen  —  thirty-two  the  day  before  — 
(Boots  —  boots  —  boots  —  boots  —  movin'     up     and     down 
again !) 

There 's  no  discharge  in  the  war ! 


RUDY  A  R  1)     K  I  r  L  I  N  G  ^'353 

Don't  —  don't  —  don't  —  don't  —  look  at  what's  in  front  of 

you 
(Boots  —  boots  —  boots  —  boots  —  movin'     u\)      an'      down 

again); 
Men  —  men  —  men  —  men  — men  go  mad  with  watchin'  'em. 
An'  there 's  no  discharge  in  the  war ! 


Try  —  try  —  try  —  try  —  to  think  o'  somclhiiig  different  — 
Oh  —  my  —  God  —  keep  —  me  from  goin'  lunatic  ! 
(Boots  —  boots  —  boots  —  boots  —  movin'      up      an'      down 
again !) 

There 's  no  discharge  in  the  war  ! 

Count  —  count  —  count  —  count  —  the   bullets  in   the   bando- 
liers ; 
If  —  your  —  eyes  —  drop  —  they  will  get  atop  o'  you 
(Boots  —  boots  —  boots  —  boots  —  movin'     up     and     down 
again)  — 

There 's  no  discharge  in  the  war ! 

We  —  can  —  stick  —  out  —  'unger,  thirst,  an'  weariness, 
But  —  not  —  not  —  not  —  not  the  chronic  sight  of  'em  — 
Boots  —  boots  —  boots  —  boots  —  movin'  up  an'  down  again, 
An'  there 's  no  discharge  in  the  war ! 

'Tain't  —  so  —  bad  —  by  —  day  because  o'  company, 

But  —  night  —  brings  —  long  —  strings  —  o'   forty    thousand 

million 
Boots  —  boots  —  boots  —  boots  —  movin'  up  an'  down  again. 
There 's  no  discharge  in  the  war ! 

I  —  'ave  —  marched  —  six  —  weeks  in  'Ell  an'  certify 
It  —  is  —  not  —  fire  —  devils  —  dark  or  anything 
But    boots  —  boots  —  boots  —  boots  —  movin'    up    an'   down 
again, 

An'  there 's  no  discharge  in  the  war ! 

23 


354  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

THE   MARRIED   MAN 

(Reservist  of  the  Line) 

1  HE  bachelor  'e  fights  for  one 

As  joyful  as  can  be; 
But  the  married  man  don't  call  it  fun. 

Because  'e  fights  for  three  — 
For  'Im  an'  'Er  an'  It 

(An'  Two  an'  One  makes  Three) 
'E  wants  to  finish  'is  little  bit, 

An'  'e  wants  to  go  'ome  to  'is  tea ! 

The  bachelor  pokes  up  'is  'ead 

To  see  if  you  are  gone ; 
But  the  married  man  lies  down  instead, 

An'  waits  till  the  sights  come  on. 
For  'Im  an'  'Er  an'  a  hit 

(Direct  or  ricochee) 
'E  wants  to  finish  'is  little  bit, 

An'  'e  wants  to  go  'ome  to  'is  tea. 

The  bachelor  will  miss  you  clear 

To  fight  another  day ; 
But  the  married  man,  'e  says  "No  fear !" 

'E  wants  you  out  of  the  way 
Of  'Im  an'  'Er  an'  It 

(An'  'is  road  to  'is  farm  or  the  sea), 
'E  wants  to  finish  'is  little  bit. 

An'  'e  wants  to  go  'ome  to  'is  tea. 

The  bachelor  'e  fights  'is  fight 
An'  stretches  out  an'  snores ; 

But  the  married  man  sits  up  all  night  — 
For  'e  don't  like  out  o'  doors : 


11  U  D  V  A  R  I)     K  I  P  r.  I  N  G  355 

*E'll  strain  an'  listen  an*  peer 

An'  give  the  first  alarm  — 
For  the  sake  o'  the  breathin'  'e  's  used  to  'ear 

An'  the  'ead  on  the  thick  of  'is  arm. 

The  bachelor  may  risk  'is  'ide 

To  'elp  you  when  you  're  downed ; 
But  the  married  man  will  wait  beside 

Till  the  ambulance  comes  round. 
'E  '11  take  your  'ome  address 

An'  all  you  've  time  to  say, 
Or  if  'e  sees  there 's  'ope,  'e  '11  press 

Your  art'ry  'alf  the  day  — 

For  'Im  an'  'Er  an'  It 

(An'  One  from  Three  leaves  Two), 
For  'e  knows  you  wanted  to  finish  your  bit. 

An*  'e  knows  'oo  's  wantin'  you. 
Yes,  'Im  an'  'Er  an'  It 

(Our  'oly  One  in  Three), 
We  're  all  of  us  anxious  to  finish  our  bit. 

An'  we  want  to  get  'ome  to  our  tea  ! 

Yes,  It  an'  'Er  an'  'Im, 

Which  often  makes  me  think 
The  married  man  must  sink  or  swim 

An'  —  'e  can't  afford  to  sink ! 
Oh  'Im  an'  It  an'  'Er 

Since  Adam  an'  Eve  began  ! 
So  I  'd  rather  fight  with  the  bachelor 

An'  be  nursed  by  the  married  man ! 


356  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

LICHTENBERG 

{New  South  Wales  Contingent) 

I^MELLS  are  surer  than  sounds  or  sights 

To  make  your  heart-strings  crack  — 
They  start  those  awful  voices  o'  nights 

That  whisper,  *'01d  man,  come  back." 
That  must  be  why  the  big  things  pass 

And  the  Httle  things  remain, 
Like  the  smell  of  the  wattle  by  Lichtenberg, 

Riding  in,  in  the  rain. 

There  was  some  silly  fire  on  the  flank 

And  the  small  wet  drizzling  down  — 
There  were  the  sold-out  shops  and  the  bank 

And  the  wet,  wide-open  town ; 
And  we  were  doing  escort-duty 

To  somebody's  baggage-train. 
And  I  smelt  wattle  by  Lichtenberg  — 

Riding  in,  in  the  rain. 

It  was  all  Australia  to  me  — 

All  I  had  found  or  missed : 
Every  face  I  was  crazy  to  see. 

And  every  woman  I  'd  kissed : 
All  that  I  should  n't  ha'  done,  God  knows ! 

(As  He  knows  I  '11  do  it  again), 
That  smell  of  the  wattle  round  Lichtenberg, 

Riding  in,  in  the  rain  ! 

And  I  saw  Sydney  the  same  as  ever. 

The  picnics  and  brass-bands ; 
And  my  little  homestead  on  Hunter  River 

And  my  new  vines  joining  hands. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  357 

It  all  came  over  me  in  one  act 

Quick  as  a  shot  through  the  brain  — 
With  the  smell  of  the  wattle  round  Lichtenberg, 

Riding  in,  in  the  rain. 

I  have  forgotten  a  hundred  fights, 

But  one  I  shall  not  forget  — 
With  the  raindrops  bunging  up  my  sights 

And  my  eyes  bunged  up  with  wet ; 
And  through  the  crack  and  the  stink  of  the  cordite 

(Ah  Christ !     My  country  again  !) 
The  smell  of  the  wattle  by  Lichtenberg, 

Riding  in,  in  the  rain  ! 


STELLENBOSH 

(Composite  Columns) 


1  HE  General  'card  the  firin'  on  the  flank, 

An'  'e  sent  a  mounted  man  to  bring  'im  back 
The  silly,  pushin'  person's  name  an'  rank 

'Oo  'd  dared  to  answer  Brother  Boer's  attack. 
For  there  might  'ave  been  a  serious  engagement. 

An'  'e  might  'ave  wasted  'alf  a  dozen  men ; 
So  'e  ordered  'im  to  stop  'is  operations  round  the  kopjes, 

An'  'e  told  'im  off  before  the  Staff  at  ten  ! 

And  it  all  goes  into  the  laundry. 
But  it  never  comes  out  in  the  wash, 
'Ow  we  're  sugared  about  by  the  old  men 
('Eavy-sterned  amateur  old  men  !) 
That  'amper  an'  'inder  an'  scold  men 
For  fear  o'  Stellenbosh  ! 


358  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

The  General  'ad  **  produced  a  great  effect," 

The  General  'ad  the  country  cleared  —  almost ; 
The  General  "'ad  no  reason  to  expect," 

And  the  Boers  'ad  us  bloomin'  well  on  toast ! 
For  we  might  'ave  crossed  the  drift  before  the  twilight, 

Instead  o'  sitting  down  an'  takin'  root; 
But  we  was  not  allowed,  so  the  Boojers  scooped  the  crowd. 

To  the  last  survivin'  bandolier  an'  boot. 


The  General  saw  the  farm'ouse  in  'is  rear. 

With  its  stoep  so  nicely  shaded  from  the  sun ; 
Sez  'e,  "I'll  pitch  my  tabernacle  'ere," 

An'  'e  kept  us  muckin'  round  till  'e  'ad  done. 
For  'e  might  'ave  caught  the  confluent  pneumonia 

From  sleepin'  in  his  gaiters  in  the  dew; 
So  'e  took  a  book  an'  dozed  while  the  other  columns  closed, 

And 's  commando  out  an'  trickled  through ! 


The  General  saw  the  mountain-range  ahead, 

With  their  'elios  showin'  saucy  on  the  'eight, 
So  'e  'eld  us  to  the  level  ground  instead, 

An'  telegraphed  the  Boojers  would  n't  fight. 
For  'e  might  'ave  gone  an'  sprayed  'em  with  pompom. 

Or  'e  might  'ave  slung  a  squadron  out  to  see  — 
But  'e  was  n't  takin'  chances  in  them  'igh  an'  'ostile  kranzes 

He  was  markin'  time  to  earn  a  K.C.B 


The  General  got  'is  decorations  thick 

(The  men  that  backed  'is  lies  could  not  complain). 
The  Staff  'ad  D.S.O.'s  till  we  was  sick. 

An'  the  soldier  —  'ad  the  work  to  do  again  ! 
For  'e  might  'ave  known  tlie  District  was  a  'otbed, 

Instead  of  'andin'  over,  upside-down, 
To  a  man  'oo  'ad  to  figlit  'alf  a  year  to  put  it  right. 

While  the  General  went  an'  slandered  'im  in  town  ! 


RUDYARD     KIPLING  S59 

An'  it  all  went  into  the  laundry. 
But  it  never  came  out  in  the  wash. 
We  were  sugared  about  by  the  old  men 
(Panicky,  perishin'  old  men) 
That  'amper  an'  'inder  an'  scold  men 
For  fear  o'  Stellenbosh  ! 


HALF-BALLAD   OF  WATERVAL 

(Non-commissioned  Officers  in  Charge  of  Prisoners) 

V  V  HEN  by  the  labour  of  my  'ands 

I  've  'elped  to  pack  a  transport  tight 
With  prisoners  for  foreign  lands, 
I  ain't  transported  with  delight. 
I  know  it 's  only  just  an'  right, 
But  yet  it  somehow  sickens  me, 
For  I  'ave  learned  at  Waterval 
The  meanin'  of  captivity. 

Be'ind  the  pegged  barb-wire  strands, 

Beneath  the  tall  electric  light, 
We  used  to  walk  in  bare-'ead  bands, 
Explainin'  'ow  we  lost  our  fight. 
An'  that  is  what  they  '11  do  to-night 
Upon  the  steamer  out  at  sea. 
If  I  'ave  learned  at  Waterval 
The  meanin'  of  captivity. 

They  '11  never  know  the  shame  that  brands  — 
Black  shame  no  livin'  down  makes  white. 

The  mockin'  from  the  sentry-stands, 
The  w^omen's  laugh,  the  gaoler's  spite. 


360  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

We  are  too  bloomin'  much  polite. 
But  that  is  'ow  I  'd  'ave  us  be  .  .  , 
Since  I  'ave  learned  at  Waterval 
The  meanin'  of  captivity. 

They  '11  get  those  draggin'  days  all  right. 

Spent  as  a  foreigner  commands, 
An'  'orrors  of  the  locked-up  night, 

With  'Ell's  own  thinkin'  on  their  'ands. 
I  'd  give  the  gold  o'  twenty  Rands 
(If  it  was  mine)  to  set  'em  free  .  .  . 
For  I  'ave  learned  at  Waterval 
The  meanin'  of  captivity  ! 


PIET 

(Regular  of  the  Line) 


I 


DO  not  love  my  Empire's  foes, 
Nor  call  'em  angels ;  still. 
What  is  the  sense  of  'atin'  those 

'Oom  you  are  paid  to  kill  ? 
So,  barrin'  all  that  foreign  lot 
Which  only  joined  for  spite, 
Myself,  I  'd  just  as  soon  as  not 
Respect  the  man  I  fight. 

Ah  there,  Piet !  —  'is  trousies  to  'is  knees, 

'Is  coat-tails  lyin'  level  in  the  bullet-sprinkled  breeze; 

'E  does  not  lose  'is  rifle  an'  'e  does  not  lose  'is  seat, 

I  've  known  a  lot  o'  people  ride  a  dam'  sight  worse  than  Piet ! 

I  've  'eard  'im  cr}nn'  from  the  ground 

Like  Abel's  blood  of  old. 
An'  skirmished  out  to  look,  an'  found 

The  beggar  nearly  cold ; 


I 


RUDY  A  R  D     K  I  P  L  I  N  G  361 

I  've  waited  on  till  'e  was  dead 

(Which  could  n't  'elp  'im  much), 
But  many  grateful  things  'e  's  said 
To  me  for  doin'  such. 

Ah  there,  Piet !  whose  time  'as  come  to  die, 
'Is  carcase  past  rebellion,  but  'is  eyes  inquirin'  why. 
Though  dressed  in  stolen  uniform  with  badge  o'  rank  com- 
plete, 
I  've  known  a  lot  o'  fellers  go  a  dam'  sight  worse  than  Piet. 

An'  when  there  was  n't  aught  to  do 

But  camp  and  cattle-guards, 
I  've  fought  with  'im  the  'ole  day  through 

At  fifteen  'undred  yards ; 
Long  afternoons  o'  lyin'  still, 

An'  'earin'  as  you  lay 
The  bullets  swish  from  'ill  to  'ill 
Like  scythes  among  the  'ay. 

Ah  there,  Piet !  —  be'ind  'is  stony  kop. 

With   'is   Boer  bread   an'   biltong,  an'   'is  flask  of  a^-ful 

Dop; 
'Is  Mauser  for  amusement  an'  'is  pony  for  retreat, 
I've  known  a  lot  o'  fellers  shoot  a  dam'  sight  worse  than 
Piet. 

He 's  shoved  'is  rifle  'neath  my  nose 

Before  I  'd  time  to  think. 
An'  borrowed  all  my  Sunday  clo'es 

An'  sent  me  'ome  in  pink ; 
An'  I  'ave  crept  (Lord,  'ow  I  've  crept !) 

On  'ands  an'  knees  I  've  gone. 
And  spoored  and  floored  and  caught  and  kept 
An'  sent  him  to  Ceylon  ! 

Ah  there,  Piet !  —  you  've  sold  me  many  a  pup. 
When  week  on  week  alternate  it  was  you  an'  me  '*  'ands  up  ! " 
But  though  I  never  made  you  walk  man-naked  in  the  'eat, 
I  've  known  a  lot  of  fellows  stalk  a  dam'  sight  worse  than 
Piet. 


362  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

From  Plewman's  to  Marabastad, 

From  Ookiep  to  De  Aar, 
Me  an'  my  trusty  friend  'ave  'ad. 

As  you  might  say,  a  war; 
But  seein'  what  both  parties  done 

Before  'e  owned  defeat, 
I  ain't  more  proud  of  'avin'  won, 
Than  I  am  pleased  with  Piet. 

Ah  there,  Piet !  —  picked  up  be'ind  the  drive ! 
The  wonder  was  n't  'ow  'e  fought,  but  'ow  'e  kep'  ahve. 
With  nothin'  in  'is  belly,  on  'is  back,  or  to  'is  feet  — 
I've  known  a  lot  o'  men  behave  a  dam'  sight  worse  than 
Piet. 

No  more  I  '11  'ear  'is  rifle  crack 
Along  the  block'ouse  fence  — 
The  beggar 's  on  the  peaceful  tack, 

Regardless  of  expense. 
For  countin'  what  'e  eats  an'  draws. 

An'  gifts  an'  loans  as  well, 
'E  's  gettin'  'alf  the  Earth,  because 
'E  did  n't  give  us  'Ell ! 

Ah  there,  Piet !   with  your  brand-new  English  plough. 
Your  gratis  tents  an'  cattle,  an'  your  most  ungrateful  frow 
You've  made  the  British  taxpayer  rebuild  your  country- 
seat — 
I've  known  some  pet  battalions  charge  a  dam'  sight  less 
than  Piet. 


T 


"  WILFUL-MISSING 

— ''     {Deserters) 


HERE  is  a  world  outside  the  one  you  know. 
To  which  for  curiousness  'Ell  can't  compare  - 
It  is  the  place  where  *' wilful-missings"  go. 
As  we  can  testify,  for  we  are  there. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  363 

You  may  'avc  read  a  bullet  laid  us  low. 

That  we  was  gathered  in  "with  reverent  care'* 

And  buried  proper.  But  it  was  not  so, 
As  we  can  testify,  —  for  we  are  there  ! 

They  can't  be  certain  —  faces  alter  so 

After  the  old  aasvogel  ^  's  'ad  'is  share ; 
The  uniform  's  the  mark  by  which  they  go  — 

And  —  ain't  it  odd  ?  —  the  one  we  best  can  spare. 

We  might  'ave  seen  our  chance  to  cut  the  show  — 
Name,  number,  record,  an'  begin  elsewhere  — 

Leavin'  some  not  too  late-lamented  foe 

One  funeral  —  private  —  British  —  for  'is  share. 

We  may  'ave  took  it  yonder  in  the  Low 

Bush-veldt  that  sends  men  stragglin'  unaware 

Among  the  Kaffirs,  till  their  columns  go, 
An'  they  are  left  past  call  or  count  or  care. 

We  might  'ave  been  your  lovers  long  ago, 
'Usbands  or  children  —  comfort  or  despair. 

Our  death  {an'  burial)  settles  all  we  owe, 
An'  why  we  done  it  is  our  own  affair. 

Marry  again,  and  we  will  not  say  no, 

Nor  come  to  barstardise  the  kids  you  bear : 

Wait  on  in  'ope  —  you  've  all  your  life  below 
Before  you  '11  ever  'ear  us  on  the  stair. 

There  is  no  need  to  give  our  reasons,  though 

Gawd  knows  we  all  'ad  reasons  which  were  fair; 

But  other  people  might  not  judge  'em  so, 
And  now  it  does  n't  matter  what  they  were. 

1  Vulture. 


364  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

What  man  can  weigh  or  size  another's  woe  ? 

There  are  some  things  too  bitter  'ard  to  bear. 
SuflBce  it  we  'ave  finished  —  Domino  ! 

As  we  can  testify,  for  we  are  there, 
In  the  side-world  where  "wilful-missings"  go. 


UBIQUE 

(Royal  Artillery) 

1  HERE  is  a  word  you  often  see,  pronounce  it  as  you  may  — 
"You  bike,"  "you  bykwe,"  "ubbikwe"  —  alludin'  to  R.A. 
It  serves  'Orse,  Field,  an'  Garrison  as  motto  for  a  crest, 
An'  when  you've  found  out  all  it  means  I'll  tell  you  'alf  the 
rest. 

Ubique  means  the  long-range  Krupp  be'ind  the  low^-range  'ill  — 
Ubique  means  you  '11  pick  it  up  an'  while  you  do  stand  still. 
Ubique  means  you've  caught  the  flash  an'  timed  it  by  the 

sound. 
Ubique  means  five  gunners'  'ash  before  you  've  loosed  a  round. 

Ubique  means  Blue  Fuse,^  an'  make  the  'ole  to  sink  the  trail. 
Ubique  means  stand  up  an'  take  the  Mauser's  'alf-mile  'ail. 
Ubique  means  the  crazy  team  not  God  nor  man  can  'old. 
Ubique  means  that  'orse's  scream  which  turns  your  innards  cold  ! 

Ubique    means    "  Bank,    'Olborn,    Bank  —  a    penny    all    the 

way"  — 
The  soothin',  jingle-bump-an'-clank  from  day  to  peaceful  day. 
Ubique  means  "They've  caught  De  Wet,  an'  now  we  sha'n't  be 

long." 
Ubique  means  "I  much  regret,  the  beggar  's  goin'  strong  !  '* 

1  Extreme  range. 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  D     KIPLING  365 

Ubique  means  the  tearin*  drift  where,  breech-blocks  jammed 

with  mud. 
The  khaki  muzzles  duck  an'  lift  across  the  khaki  flood. 
Ubique  means  the  dancing  plain  that  changes  rocks  to  Boers. 
Ubique  means  the  mirage  again  an'  shellin'  all  outdoors. 

Ubique  means  "Entrain  at  once  for  Grootdefeatfontein  "  ! 
Ubique  means  *' Off-load  your  guns  "  —  at  midnight  in  the  rain  ! 
Ubique  means  **More  mounted  men.     Return  all  guns  to  store." 
Ubique  means  the  R.A.M.R.  Infantillery  Corps ! 

Ubique  means  that  warnin'  grunt  the  perished  linesman  knows, 
When  o'er  'is  strung  an'  sufferin'  front  the  shrapnel  sprays  'is 

foes; 
An'  as  their  firin'  dies  away  the  'usky  whisper  runs 
From  lips  that  'ave  n't  drunk  all  day:    "The  Guns.     Thank 

Gawd,  the  Guns  ! " 

Extreme,  depressed,  point-blank  or  short,  end-first  or  any'ow, 
From  Colesberg  Kop  to  Quagga's  Poort  —  from  Ninety-Nine 

till  now  — 
By  what  I  've  'eard  the  others  tell  an'  I  in  spots  'ave  seen. 
There 's  nothin'  this  side  'Eaven  or  'Ell  Ubique  does  n't  mean  ! 


THE  RETURN 

(All  Arms) 


P 


EACE  is  declared,  an'  I  return 

To  'Ackneystadt,  but  not  the  same ; 
Things  'ave  transpired  w^hich  made  me  learn 

The  size  and  meanin'  of  the  gama  ^^^ 

I  did  no  more  than  others  did, 

I  don't  know  where  the  change  began ; 
I  started  as  a  average  kid, 

I  finished  as  a  thinkin'  man. 


S66  COLLECTED     VERSE     OF 

If  England  was  what  England  seems. 
An'  not  the  England  of  our  dreams. 

But  only  putty,  brass,  an'  paint, 

'Ow  quick  we  'd  drop  'er!     But  she  ain't ! 

Before  my  gappin'  mouth  could  speak 

I  'eard  it  in  my  comrade's  tone ; 
I  saw  it  on  my  neighbour's  cheek 

Before  I  felt  it  flush  my  own. 
An'  last  it  come  to  me  —  not  pride, 

Nor  yet  conceit,  but  on  the  'ole 
(If  such  a  term  may  be  applied). 

The  makin's  of  a  bloomin'  soul. 

Rivers  at  night  that  cluck  an'  jeer. 

Plains  which  the  moonshine  turns  to  sea. 
Mountains  which  never  let  you  near. 

An'  stars  to  all  eternity; 
An'  the  quick-breathin'  dark  that  fills 

The  'ollows  of  the  wilderness, 
When  the  wind  worries  through  the  'ills  — 

These  may  'ave  taught  me  more  or  less. 

Towns  without  people,  ten  times  took, 

An'  ten  times  left  an'  burned  at  last; 
An'  starvin'  dogs  that  come  to  look 

For  owners  when  a  column  passed ; 
An'  quiet,  'omesick  talks  between 

Men,  met  by  night,  you  never  knew 
Until  —  'is  face  —  by  shellfire  seen  — 

Once  —  an'  struck  off.     They  taught  me  too. 

The  day's  lay-out  —  the  mornin'  sun 
Beneath  your  'at-brim  as  you  sight ; 

The  dinner-'ush  from  noon  till  one. 
An'  the  full  roar  that  lasts  till  night; 


R  U  D  Y  A  R  I)     KIPLING  S67 

An'  the  pore  dead  that  look  so  old 

An'  was  so  young  an  hour  ao^o, 
An'  legs  tied  down  before  they  're  cold  — 

These  are  the  things  which  make  you  know. 

Also  Time  runnin'  into  years  — 

A  thousand  Places  left  be'ind  — 
An'  Men  from  both  two  'emispheres 

Discussin'  things  of  every  kind; 
So  much  more  near  than  I  'ad  known, 

So  much  more  great  than  I  'ad  guessed  — 
An'  me,  like  all  the  rest,  alone  — 

But  reachin'  out  to  all  the  rest ! 

So  'ath  it  come  to  me  —  not  pride. 

Nor  yet  conceit,  but  on  the  'ole 
(If  such  a  term  may  be  applied), 

The  makin's  of  a  bloomin'  soul. 
But  now,  discharged,  I  fall  away 

To  do  with  little  things  again.  .  . 
Gawd,  'oo  knows  all  I  cannot  say, 

Look  after  me  in  Thamesfontein  !  ^ 

//  England  was  what  England  seems. 

An'  not  the  England  of  our  dreams. 
But  only  putty,  brass,  an*  paint, 

'Ow  quick  we  'd  chuck  'er!     But  she  ain't ! 

1  London. 


The  University  Press,  Cambridge,  U.  S.  A. 


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